


The Matrix: The One

by Manniness



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Matrix (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Everlark set in the Matrix universe, Explicit Language, F/M, Innuendo, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Manniness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss will do whatever it takes to in order to free her sister from the Matrix.  Even if that means asking for help from the boy who'd risked his life to save hers eight years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Katniss gets some bad news

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for lots of swearing and cussing, implied drug use and alcohol abuse, plus Johanna's mind is a dirty place to visit. Enjoy. I know I will. (^_~)

“What the fucking _fuck,_ Haymitch?!”

The scruffy man waves a hand irreverently between us as if my exhalation were some kind of foul odor.  “Calm down, sweetheart.  I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Well, I call bullshit.”

He snorts.

I cross my arms.

We glare at each other over the chipped Formica tabletop.  He gives an I-don’t-give-a-damn shrug and swirls the dregs of the moonshine in the recycled Jim Beam bottle.  “Then congratulations to you.  Good luck getting your sister out all on your own.”

Rat-shit-sucking bastard.  Oracle my ass!

“I think that concludes our little consultation,” he declares, reaching behind him and grabbing an open plastic Tupperware off the cluttered counter.  “Take a brownie.”

The container clatters onto the table between us and the displaced air carries with it more than just the scent of cocoa and flour.  “Those are pot brownies.”

“Yeah…?”

I scowl.  “I’m not taking one of those.”

“Of course you’re not.  Take five.  You need to come down a notch.”

“The hell I do!  Maybe I like this notch.”

He arches a shaggy brow.  “No shit.  But what’re you gonna say to Finnick when he sees that look on your face?”

“That you’re an asshole.”

“No, sweetheart.  Not that look.  The _other_ look.”

I blink, feeling a little lost, a lot angry, and shitload of betrayed.

“That one.”

Oh.

“You gonna be the one to break the bad news to him?  Fitting, huh?  The girl he sacrificed a lifetime with his darling wife for just so he could pull you out at the tender age of twelve, and you ain’t even willing to _try_ to—”

“Shut up.”

He tips the bottle back, liberally swishes his mouth with the liquor, and then swallows.  Belches.  Grins.

Disgusting.

I sigh.  I take a brownie.  “What was the guy’s name again?”  I don’t need him to repeat it.  I know the name.  I know it well.  I just need to be sure I’d heard him right because the odds are just too damn fantastic for me to believe he’d really said what I think he’d said.

Haymitch smirks.  I glare off to the side at his assortment of plastic refrigerator magnets so I don’t have to suffer through the sight of him.  He spells the name for me.  Offers to write it down.

I shove the brownie into my mouth, flip him off, and march out of his 1960s reject kitchen.

“How’d it go?” Effie asks, abandoning her daytime talk show to totter behind me as I make a beeline for the front door.  Just because I’m female does not make us fashion friends.

“Piss off.”

I turn the corner and my friend, my mentor, my savior grins so widely his cheeks dimple.  “I hope you at least got some sugar out of it.”

“Can we get the hell out of here?”

He reaches for the door handle just before I do, wraps his long fingers around it, and blocks us in.

“Finnick—”

“Hey, I don’t want your secrets.  What was said was for you and you alone.”

My shoulders droop.  Thank God I don’t have to report Haymitch’s assessment to him.  It would _kill_ Finnick.  “Fine.”

“Here,” he says, digging into the hip pocket of his leather jacket.  I hold out my hand automatically.  Yes, I trust him that much.  He drops a pair of paper-wrapped sugar cubes into my palm.  “Brought my own, just in case.”

Maybe it’s the pot in the brownies, but I’m actually smiling as he shoulders open the door and leads me down the graffiti and garbage-littered hall.

When we get back to the car, I slide into the backseat next to Beetee.  From behind the wheel, Johanna lifts a brow at me in the rear view mirror.  Finnick takes shotgun and asks if anyone wants donuts – “There’s a bakery on the way.”

Bakery.

_Shit._

I reach for my phone.

“The hell, brainless?” Johanna complains.  “You gonna take orders?  You know this shit don’t work like that.”

 _Fuck off,_ I mouth at her just as a man on the other end picks up.

“Operator.”

“Gale, I need you to run a search for me.”

“Let ‘er rip, Catnip.”

I close my eyes and pray for patience.  “I need the status and schedule for a guy.”  I spell the name and then, just to confirm it, I force myself to say it aloud, “Peeta Mellark.”


	2. Peeta crosses paths with a Mockingjay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

By the time I see the truck, I know it’s too late.  I’d just put all my weight on my prosthetic leg, had just stepped off the curb, and now I have nowhere to go but forward in the two seconds of life that remain to me.

_Shit._

I guess I’d always known I’d be making an early exit.

I’m just starting to wonder if it’s worth it to close my eyes before they get mashed into the grill of the semi when a hand fists in the back of my T-shirt and hauls me backward, out of the way of the horn-blaring truck, and keeps on hauling me as I stumble over the curb and cracked sidewalk.  I come to a stop when my back slams into the side of a dumpster in the alley.

“What the— Thanks, um, thanks,” I wheeze.  Reaction is setting in so I figure I’d better get that out there while I still have the breath for it.  I fumble for my pants pocket beneath my flour-dusted apron – shit, I’d forgotten to take it off before leaving the kitchen… _again –_ and palm my inhaler.  Just in case.

I glare at the apron I shouldn’t be wearing out on the street and sigh.  If I’d noticed I earlier and gone back to hang it up, I could have avoided that close call with the truck and personal introduction to the sticky side of this reeking dumpster.  But I hadn’t and my rescuer deserves a bit more than that half-assed token of appreciation.  “You saved my life.  I… _really…_ thank you.”

“Sure,” a woman says tersely.  “I guess this makes us even.”

I look up at her through my brows, my jaw coming a little loose from its mooring as I take in the lace-up hunter’s boots, skin-tight pants, and high-collared tunic.  She’s dressed in black from head to toe.  Even her plaited hair is a hue I’d have to label _pitch._   I can’t see through the shades of her glasses, but I _know_ she’s glaring at me.  Guy’s intuition.

“Um…”  What had she just said?  “Even?” I think I’d heard that word.

She nods once and then reaches up to pull the glasses down off the bridge of her nose.

I stare into her steely, grey eyes.

I lose my breath completely.

I cough once before I realize I need the inhaler after all.  Lifting it up, I take a measured, medicated breath even as I keep staring at her through watery eyes.  My lungs burn, but I don’t care.

“It’s you,” I gasp.  “Mockingjay.”

I’d never known her name, but I remember the word scrawled in permanent marker across the acoustic guitar.  Her father’s?  Her uncle’s?  I don’t know who he’d been, but he’d looked a lot like her.  He’d played and she’d sung to the early morning crowds.  Sometimes his deeper voice would blend into the music that had filled the subway tunnel to bursting.  I’d dropped my lunch money into the guitar case every single morning I’d seen them there on my way to school.  Every single morning.

Until—

_Scream._

_Panic._

_Falling._

_Lights._

_Roar._

_Darkness._

_Pain._

“You’re alive,” I breathe.

“Yeah,” she agrees.  Something flickers in her expression.  An apology?  “And I need your help.  Again.”


	3. Katniss hijacks a mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

“Okay.  Uh, what do you need me to do?”

He doesn’t even hesitate to make the offer.  I think I hate him.

“Come with me,” I bite out, grabbing his brawny elbow and dragging him through the detritus behind the bakery.

“Um, okay, but… why the rush?”

“Because you were scheduled for disposal just now and – obviously – you missed your appointment.”  God.  I sound like Haymitch.

“Disposal?!”

“The truck…?” I remind him.

“That… that was an accident,” he insists.

I roll my eyes.  “Yeah.  That’s what everyone thinks.”

“Look, you’re freaking me out and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Katniss.”

“Katniss…  Why does that sound familiar?”

“Look it up later.  Move _now.”_

He doesn’t argue.  He’s surprisingly nimble given his left leg, which I know is only metal and plastic below the knee, but it’s been years.  Clearly, he’s adjusted to it.

_I can change that…_

I slam the thought shut before it reveals more than I’m prepared to deal with.  I don’t take him back to the car.  I’d slipped away from the others and set my phone to silent.  It’s been vibrating in my pocket nonstop, but I let it go.  It’s better if the others head back to our exit without me.  Safer.  For them, anyway.

There’s not much on this block – a post office, a Korean noodle place, a dentist’s, and an art supply store.  I pull Peeta into the latter.

“Hey, Peeta!”  The clerk stocking the aisles greets without even glancing in our direction.

“Yo, Thom.”

“Got some new watercolors and glazes in.”

“Sweet.  I’ll check it out.”

I pull Peeta down a random aisle toward the Employees Only door and then shrug our way into the back.

“Wait!” he hisses.  “We’re not supposed to be in here.”

“We won’t be long,” I temporize, ducking behind a stack of plastic-wrap-bundled canvases.  I take a moment to check that the fire exit isn’t bricked over.  The door cracks open.  I shut it again before I set off the alarm.

“What is going on?”

“Well… officially, you’re dead, Peeta.”

He blinks at me.

“Do you have anyone, um, important?  Anyone you’d miss?”

“What?”

“Girlfriend?  Boyfriend?”

_“What?”_

“Just answer the damn question!”

He shakes his head, eyes wide and lips slack.  “No.  No one like that.”

I’d thought so, but it’d been a while since I’d given him more than cursory glance when I’d checked in on him.  “Good.  That should make this easier.”  Marginally.

He waits for me to take a deep breath.  I try to remember how Finnick likes to begin when he’s preparing to hijack a mind.  “Peeta, have you ever felt like there’s something… off about the world?  Like all this is a dream and you can’t wake up from it?”

“Um… no?”

“No?”

He shrugs.  “Okay, maybe, but… doesn’t everyone get that feeling from time to time?”

“Yes,” I reply carefully, “and they should listen to their instincts.”

Peeta’s blue eyes widen.  He gulps.

“I need you to trust your instincts right now,” I tell him.  “That truck was supposed to kill you.  It’s only a matter of time before they notice no one called emergency services and, of course, that you’re still breathing.  Next time it’ll be a simple heart attack.  I won’t be able to yank you out of the way of something like that.”

I study his face as he grows increasingly pale.

“Now, you can call me crazy and that’s fine, but what I need you to do is follow your instincts.”  I hold out my hand.  “I’m giving you a choice.  I can help you.  I can show you the truth about the world.  All of it.”

“You said you needed my help.”

Did he not hear anything I’d just said?  “Yes, I do, but you’ll be giving up _everything_ you’ve ever known.”

He blinks.  Once.  Slowly.  He draws in a deep breath.  Releases it.  “Okay.  Yes, this _is_ crazy.”

Shit.  That sounded like a _no._

My fingers twitch after the phone in my pocket.  I’m going to need backup after all.  How the hell am I going to convince Finnick to help me hijack an unwilling mind?

Peeta reaches up and runs both hands through his messy, blond hair.  I notice that the waves are actually heat-subdued curls.  Puffs of flour dust float up around his head, like an aura.  A baker’s aura.  If I inhale deeply enough I might even taste it.

Why hadn’t I ever stopped by his home or work and _looked_ in on him?  So much is lost in translation.  Like how warm it suddenly feels in this room, which I’d be willing to bet is a direct result of how those apron strings wrap around his hips, and how long and pale his eyelashes are, and the precise shade of blue of his eyes, and the scent of him that’s both musky and powdery.  All things that had been imbedded too deeply in the coding for me to bother deciphering.

My hungry perusal of him ends when he tilts his chin up and our gazes meet, meld, mesh.  I shouldn’t want him.  What is standing in front of me is an illusion.  This isn’t real.  How I’m feeling isn’t real.

My sister is.

I lean into him, pushing him back against a wall of shelves that nearly groan under the weight of dozens of cardboard boxes.  He stumbles backward and I overbalance, watching helplessly as he throws out his arms to catch himself, opening up his guard to me.  My hands scrabble up to his shoulders – broad, strong, warm – but the movement is too late to stop my momentum.  My pelvis crashes into his.  His breath puffs against my cheek.

Then we both hold our breath.

I stare.  He stares back.

“I… um, I’m not good at saying what I mean,” I warn him, watching as he quickly licks his lips.  I decide I don’t care if this isn’t real.  I want to acquaint myself with those lips.

I do.

When I angle my chin forward and our lips brush, he doesn’t try to stop me.  His mouth softens.  His jaw drops and his lips fit to mine.  He’s kissing me back.

“I looked for you,” he murmurs against my mouth before pushing against the shelves and pressing back against me.  His hands migrate to just hover at my waist.  I can feel the heat of his palms through the layers of fabric.  “Walking the subways,” he gasps.  “Ads in newspapers.  The evening news.  There was a reward—”  He reaches up and cradles my face.

I sigh.  “I know.”

“Why didn’t you answer?  I just wanted to know that you were okay.”

I shake my head.  “I couldn’t answer you.  I—I _couldn’t.”_

“But… just a postcard or _something.”_

I shake my head.  It would have been impossible for me to contact him back then.  Impossible and stupid.  “Even if I could have, I wouldn’t have.  They were watching you, Peeta.  They’re still watching you, hoping to catch _me.”_   I reach up and grasp his hands, pulling them down and interlocking our fingers.  I take a centering breath.  Time to lay it on the line.  “I’m walking out that door in two minutes and I’m never coming back.  It won’t be safe for either of us if I do.”

“I just found you.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  You have to make a choice.  Life and death on their terms, or your own.”

His jaw clenches.  I take a step away to give him space to think.  I slip one hand from his but he refuses to let go of the other.  After a moment, I follow his gaze downward to our interlaced fingers.  His thumb brushes back and forth over my knuckles, lulling me.  I fist my other hand until my blunt nails dig into my palm.  The pain grounds me.

“If I go with you… I mean… there are some things I’ll need.  People I have to say goodbye to—”

“No.  You can’t bring anything with you.”  He frowns.  He doesn’t understand.  He won’t believe me if I try to explain.  “There’s no time for goodbyes.”

I hate letting him make this decision.  I should finish what I’d started out on the street and save him now – call our debt even – whether he wants me to or not.  If he chooses to stay behind, I have no way of knowing how much longer he’ll live.  They might keep him alive hoping I’ll try to contact him.  Or they might reschedule his disposal because, let’s face it, I’m not nearly as special as Finnick thinks I am.  I’m no one, really.  Just a girl who wants to free her sister from an unending nightmare.

I check my wristwatch, uncurl my fist and, reaching up, I brush my fingertips over his jaw.  This boy – no, _man_ – how can I leave him behind?

I don’t think I can.

I have to.

I can’t risk it.

I need him.

I don’t need anyone.

There is no other way.

Haymitch is wrong.

Finnick will know what to do.

Peeta turns toward my palm.  I feel his breath on my fingers, his lips and beard stubble against my skin.

“Time’s up,” I breathe, gambling like I’ve never gambled before in my entire life.  “Good luck, Peeta.”

I turn toward the fire door.  His hand clutches mine tighter.  “You need me,” he repeats, clears his throat, clarifies, “you need my help.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.  I’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a fan of The Matrix, you may have noticed that I'm diddling with some aspects of the system. For one thing, there are disposal schedules. (The machines have gotta make sure they're efficiently utilizing their resources and maximizing their energy output.)
> 
> More canon differences will come up as we go, but I'll have Katniss explain them to ya. (^_~)


	4. Peeta falls down the rabbit hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

What the hell am I doing?

“We’re not prepared for a hijacking, Katniss,” the older man with the eyeglasses and smartly trimmed goatee warns her in a mild whisper.

“Well, _get_ prepared, Beetee.  He’s coming with us.”

“A baker, huh?”  This comment comes from a smirking woman in a blue halter top and white jeans that look to be painted on.  Her sharp gaze slides over Katniss’ flour-smudged front before she scans my apron with a smug grin.  I decide I won’t be intimidated.  She’s just trying to get a reaction from me.

I give her a friendly smile.  “Yup.  I’m a baker.”

“That’s gonna be one helluva transferable skill.”

“Shut it, Jo.”

The sound of a cell phone being snapped closed puts a halt to the debate.  “I’m Finnick,” the tall, bronze-haired man says, rounding out the haphazard introductions.  “And this isn’t the way we normally do things, but hey – Katniss likes to keep us all on our toes.”  He gives her a look that practically screams the promise of very heavy words being exchanged later, but she isn’t phased.

Katniss glares at the nearest window, looking irritated and impatient.  I redirect my attention before she turns that scowl on me.  Unfortunately, the rest of the scenery leaves doesn’t add up to much.  The room is large with a high ceiling from which rotting and torn wallpaper drips.  At the edges of the moth-eaten and dust-saturated drapes, I can just barely see daylight licking at the fabric.  The winding stairwell had creaked alarmingly with every step we’d taken on the way up here.  The pitter-patter of little rodent feet had fled the sound of our footsteps.  I am _certain_ this building is condemned.  I really hope I don’t end up dying in here.

God, what have I done?

_You’ve just thrown your life away for a girl you barely know.  Again._

Well.  At least it’s the same girl.  I’m consistent, so that counts for something… right?

A phone rings in the other room.

Finnick nods toward a set of closed doors.  The hinges are rusty and paint is peeling from its warped surface.  “Beetee, if you would?”

“Of course.  Won’t be a moment.”  The bespectacled man heads for the other room to answer the call.

Although she isn’t looking at me, Katniss shifts a little closer.  My hand twitches.  Would she have grasped it if we were alone right now?

Jo grins gleefully.  “Relax, Kat.  If they had a lock on your baker boy, they would have come through already.”

“Come through?” I echo.

Katniss shoots Jo a deadly glare.

“Johanna,” Finnick sing-songs.  “You’re not trying to jinx our new friend, are you?  That’s not very nice.”

“Since when am I _nice?”_ she retorts with amusement.

“Only in my most unsettling nightmares,” he jovially admits.  A sound from the other side of the doors widens the smile on Finnick’s face.  “Ah.  I believe our delivery has just arrived.”

Delivery?

I feel myself frowning in Katniss’ direction.  She frowns back but not in confusion like me.  “What is it?” I ask.

“Don’t expect this to make any sense right now.”

I snort out a laugh.  “So I should just assume all this is some kind of weird dream I’m going to wake up from in the morning?”

Her lips twitch.  The woman named Jo throws back her head and cackles.  Finnick slaps me on the shoulder as he saunters into the room Beetee had entered not two minutes earlier.

“Something like that,” Katniss finally says.  When she gestures for me to follow, I need to take a moment to settle my nerves so I don’t fall flat on my face.  I also need a moment for other reasons.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I can’t believe I’m seeing her again, that I finally know her name, that she’d kissed me.

Oh, God what a kiss.

I can’t believe I’m leaving behind my dad’s bakery, my brothers, my nephew and niece.  But they don’t need me and Katniss does.  She’s the only one who ever has.  I remember each and every time our gazes had locked over the sound of my lunch money – usually quarters – chiming and clinking into the bottom of the careworn guitar case.  I remember the wide-eyed look of fear on her face as the lights-roar-inevitable had thundered down on us.  She’s the only one who has ever _seen_ me.

_Are you seriously doing this because of a pair of big, grey eyes?_

I let Katniss guide me to some kind of vintage dentist’s chair in the midst of odd gadgets and gizmos that seem ridiculously out of place in this dilapidated building.  I take a seat.

_I guess so._

“Katniss?”  God, that had almost been a whimper.  “Did you do this once?”

“Yes,” she answers bluntly, distractedly accepting something from Finnick, something small enough to be concealed in the palm of her slender hand.  “You’ll be fine, Peeta.  I’ll look after you.”

I nod to cover up the helpless shiver.  I can’t hide the goose bumps on my arms, though.  Katniss perches on the edge of the chair beside my hip and holds out two pills – a blue and red – one in each hand.  That’s what Finnick had passed to her.  “You have to choose.  Take the blue pill and, um, you can go back to your life here.”

However long that lasts.  I haven’t forgotten that I’d been _scheduled for disposal._   I have no idea how she’d known something like that, but she honestly believes it’s true.  She is genuinely frightened for me; I can see it.  And I can’t think of a single reason for why this girl – _woman_ – would lie to me.

I could still take my chances but… I’ll never see her again.  She’ll go back to haunting my dreams and nightmares and after all these years – after seeing her in the flesh at last – there’s no way I can go back to that.  There’s no way I can be content with not knowing what might have been.

She’s asking me to make a choice.  I’d made it the moment I’d looked into her eyes.

“And the red pill?”

She gives me a soft smile.  “The red one will show you the truth.”

“And I’ll be with you,” I check.

“Yes.”

I pluck the red pill from her palm and pop it into my mouth.  Jo – Johanna – offers me a glass of water.  I sniff it cautiously, glancing at her and receiving an amused look, before chugging it.  My hand shakes when I lower it.  Trembles.  Katniss grabs the glass before I can drop it.  She sets it aside and laces our fingers together.

“Focus on the sound of my voice,” Katniss softly murmurs.

Johanna leans over me, pressing an electrode to the skin over my jugular vein and taping it in place.  Behind her, Finnick is talking on the phone and Beetee is typing on a computer, fiddling with some kind of game controller.  I tune them out.  I close my eyes.  In my self-imposed darkness, I notice a chill which dances and twirls through my veins, starting out in my wrists and spinning outward.  My brows draw together.  “I feel cold.”

“That’s right.  Cold.  It’s fine.  You’ll be fine.”  I sigh into the feel of her fingers combing through my hair.  “We’ll find you.”

Find me?  But I’m right—  I gasp as my entire body shudders.  Violently.  My eyelids fly open.  “Shit!”

“Listen to me, Peeta.  I’m right here.  Like that morning in the subway.  You remember?  You grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go—”

I remember.  I remember a girl’s scream.  I remember a crowd, pushing and shoving – too many people on the platform.  Men in suits and dark sunglasses wrestling her father (uncle?) to the ground.  Katniss’ small face, stricken and pale.  Her father’s scream-shout-plea—

_“Go!  Run!  Get out of here!”_

_She scrambles backward.  Trips.  Disappears over the edge of the platform and onto the tracks._

_I dive after her, battling through the throng.  Swimming against the tide.  My backpack catching on elbows.  The press of bodies resisting my forward momentum, holding me back.  And then, finally, the edge._

_“Here, take my hand!”_

_She can’t reach me.  She’s just a girl.  I’m just a boy.  Our arms are too short.  And then: the lights of an oncoming train._

_I jump down onto the tracks with her.  No time to find a place to hide.  I push her to the concrete, cover her, tuck her underneath me.  She’s not as small as I’d thought.  We’re both gonna die.  Our fingers tangle together._

_“I’m not letting go!”_

_The blare of the train horn._

_The thunder of the wheels._

_Noise collides with darkness.  Life and death explode above me and then—_

Nothing.

No, not nothing.  It’s cold.  It’s wet.  Can’t breathe.  What?  Where—?

“Katniss!”

I mean to shout.  I choke on water instead.

And then the warped metal of the subway train undercarriage wraps around me.  Pulls me through the cold, the wet, the dark.  A light above.  A hum – an engine?  And then a voice.

I don’t understand the words, but I know this voice.  I know it down to my bones.

“Katniss,” I croak, searching frantically for her, fighting how weak I feel, struggling to blink the blurriness from my eyes.  “Katniss…”

The voice comes again.  Closer.  A touch.  So warm.  Burning.  Or maybe I’m cold.  Shivering.  A hand cradles my face.  Another clutches my fingers.

“Peeta.”  The sound of my name.  The syllables are warped and strange, but I know her voice.  I know this olive-skinned form and dark hair.  I still can’t bring her indistinct features into focus, but I _know_ her.  “I’m here, Peeta.  I’m here…”

I try to hold onto her hand as the world slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a tad confused...
> 
> Beetee leaves the room and answers the phone so he can re-enter the Matrix (all entrances and exits are done via a telephone land line) with the supplies they need, which come from the Construct. More on the Construct later when Katniss explains the system to Peeta. Right now we just have Peeta's POV so everything seems completely random and WTF.
> 
> Johanna's comment about someone "having a lock" on Peeta and "coming through" is a reference to agents. Again, more on this later. Side note: the threat of an agent "popping in" why everything's kinda awkward/tense when Katniss shows up with Peeta out of the blue.
> 
> When Peeta thinks he feels the "undercarriage of the train" wrap around him and lift him up, it's actually a retrieval mechanism (i.e., hand-grabby thing) from the hovercraft Finnick captains. Peeta has never used his real eyes or ears, so his perceptions of his rescue are completely warped. And, yup, you guessed it, more on this later, too.


	5. Katniss’ bedside manner needs work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

“You know I never complain about a clean hijacking,” Finnick says by way of greeting.  “But you broke protocol in a big way.”

I look up from the still figure laid out on medical bay pallet, from the pale hand I’m steadfastly warming between both of mine.  “Fuck protocol.”

Finnick’s frown darkens from unhappy to fearsome.  “I mean it, Katniss.  If you ever take off on your own like that again, I can guarantee that the District Twelve will be the last ship you ever set foot on.”

He’s deadly serious.  No one goes off on their own in the Matrix.  We don’t have many rules, but that’s the biggest one.  I just don’t think there’s much point to it.  The kinds of things that are bad for one of us are equally bad for two of us.  Having an extra person along for the ride only guarantees that you’ll hear someone else’s screams before you die.

Fuck, I’m chipper today.

“Katniss,” Finnick scolds.

I give in with a sigh and reluctant nod.  “Fine.”

“Okay.”  He steps further into the room, setting the tray he’s carrying down on a nearby counter.  “So now that that’s out of the way: why him?”

I counter.  “Why me?”

Finnick shifts guiltily.  “You know why.”

I shake my head ruefully.  “Well, there’s your answer.”

His expression is thoughtful as he peers at Peeta, giving the plugs along each thin, pale arm a close inspection.  “Looks like infection in this one.”

My stomach twists and rolls.  “I know.”  I’d given him an injection of antibiotics.  I hope he doesn’t need to have any of the plugs lanced.  If he does, I’ll have to leave him to Johanna’s tender mercies.  I can force myself to handle a little – _very little_ – blood but I draw the line at pus.  “We’ll have to start him on muscle therapy today.”

Finnick nods.  Not that the decision rests solely with him – neither of us are fully-trained medics like Johanna.  He nods because he still has something to say and hasn’t quite decided how to say it yet.  We both study our new passenger, from the top of his bald head to his white, bony feet.  The towel draped over the sunken flesh between his too-prominent hipbones is more for my comfort than anyone else’s.  On a ship this size, there isn’t much in the way of privacy.  Finnick is indifferent about nudity.  Johanna tries to shock everyone with hers.  Beetee often forgets to put pants on when he’s coding in updates.  And then there’s Gale and Rory, who share the same opinion as everyone born and raised in Zion… which pretty much amounts to “less is more.”

“So, you know this guy.  Peeta.”

I nod.  “It’s thanks to him you had something to hijack.”

“Hm?”  He squints at our patient with renewed focus.  “This is the kid?”

“Yes.”

“Well… damn.”

Again, silence falls.  Between us, Peeta’s face twitches with either a random muscle spasm or in response to a dream.

“I suppose if Haymitch told you to get him out, it was for a good reason,” Finnick deduces.

I manage a casual shrug.  I can’t tell Finnick the truth.  Not yet.

“Anyway.  Brought you dinner.”  He gestures to the bowl of goop on the counter.

“Thanks.”  I don’t even try to sound enthusiastic.

After another moment of silence, he stretches until his back pops.  His yawn is obnoxiously vocal.  “Well, since you’re obviously busy, I guess I’ll cover your shift.”

Now I feel even more guilty.

Finnick laughs.  “Don’t worry about it, Everdeen.”

I glare until he saunters out of the room.  The breath I’d been hoarding tickles its way up from deep within me—

“Oh!  Almost forgot to mention!”  Finnick pokes his head around the corner and grins.  I almost choke on nothing but air.  His eyes sparkle.  Damn it, he can be such an ass.  “Since he’s your hijack, why don’t you handle his training?  The first part of it, anyway.”

“What?  Me?  Do the talking part?”

“Sure!  He trusts you, so why not?  Don’t think you can manage it?”

“Piss off,” I grumble.

Laughing, he does.

I’m _finally_ allowed to let out the breath I’d been hoarding.  When I reach out to pet Peeta’s brow, he lets out a sigh to mirror mine.  “Shit.”  I speak in a whisper.  I can’t afford to wake him before he’s ready; he needs all the rest he can get.  “We’ve got a lot to do when you wake up.”

A muscle near his right eye twitches.

“I hope Haymitch is wrong.  I hope it doesn’t have to be you.”

Peeta has no answers for me, not that I’d been expecting them.  I lay my head down on my arms and close my eyes.

Sometime later, a gentle tug upon my hair causes me to open them.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice rasps.  “It’s just so…”  He gives me a lopsided smile, twirling his fingers weakly in the locks.  The band must have slipped off at some point.  My hair is spilling out of its braid and crawling over his forearm.

“It’s fine.  How do you feel?”

“My eyes hurt.”

That’s to be expected.  “Let me know if you want a blindfold.”

“Can’t we turn the lights down?”

I shake my head.  “Your skin needs the exposure.”

“Vitamin D?”

I shrug.  It’s not really my field.  “Something like that.  Are you hungry?”

“Um... maybe?”  He squints.  “Why is it so loud in here?”

“Your ears are still adjusting.  What you’re hearing is the vibration of the engines.”

“Where are we?”

“Aboard a ship.”

“On the ocean?”

“Um, no.  We’re in a hovercraft.”

He gapes at me.

“They’re real,” I assure him.  “I’ll give you a tour later.”

“Okay.”

Peeta’s eyes are as piercingly blue as ever.  So sharp they cut me until I bleed.

I reach for the untouched bowl of gruel and give it a stir.  The stuff never congeals, never clumps, never separates.  There’s no point in stirring it, but I do anyway.  Habit, I guess.

I clear my throat.

He speaks before I do.  “Why can’t I move?”

“You’re just bursting with questions, aren’t you?”

“Weren’t you?  When you did this?  Or… is there something wrong with me?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with you.  Here.  Open up.”  He complies as I spoon a dollop of the tasteless stuff between his lips.  “Slowly,” I warn him, catching an escaping dribble with the edge of the spoon.

“Shit, this is embarrassing.”  He coughs as it slides down his throat.  He winces.  A familiar sensation clashes with untrained muscles.  “I swear I know how to eat.  Feed myself, even.”

“Actually, you don’t,” I grumble before I can stop myself.

“What do you mean?”

I set the bowl aside on an exasperated huff.  “If I tell you why, will you promise to stay calm?”

His eyes widen.  “You’re scaring me, Katniss.”

“I don’t mean to, but the truth is scary.”

“Hold my hand?”  His request is so shy I can’t even imagine turning him down.

“Okay.”  I fold his fingers between mine.  “Um, do you remember when I asked you if you ever felt like you were dreaming and couldn’t wake up?”

“Yeah…”

“You were.”

He gives me a blank look.

“You were dreaming, Peeta.  Your whole life.  You’ve been dreaming your life away.”

“How is that even possible?”

I pull one hand away and shake my long, loose sleeve up to my elbow, then turn my wrist up, showing him the black plug on my forearm.

“What is that?”

“You have them, too,” I whisper, lifting his emaciated arm so he can see it for himself.

“Holy shit.  What—?”

“It’s for feeding you intravenously.  While you’re asleep.  You dream you’re eating – I dunno, pizza or chow mien, whatever – but really it’s an IV.  It’s all an illusion, part of an interactive program called ‘The Matrix.’”

He hasn’t blinked for a solid minute.  I figure I might as well hit him with the rest of it, with the final proof that the world he’s known for the past twenty years is _wrong._   I move down to the foot of his bed and reach for his right foot.  His toes wiggle in response to my touch.

“You feel that?”

He nods.  “Of course I—”

I reach for his left foot.  “How about this?”

He gasps.  Gawps.  Stutters.  “Wh—wh—what is…?”

I cup his heel and then trail my fingers up his bare shin.

He shudders.  “Help me up.  I need to see—”

Returning to the head of the bed, I carefully slide an arm beneath his shoulders – so thin compared to the ones I’d braced myself against just yesterday – and lift him up, supporting his head against my shoulder.  And when he looks down—

“Shit.  _Shit-shit-shit!_   Katniss…?”

“I’m here.  You’re all right.”  I stroke my fingers over his bald head.  “The subway… your leg… it was all part of the dream.  It wasn’t real.”

“Not real?”

I shake my head.

He slides a hand down toward his legs.  He doesn’t have the strength to reach far, but he seems satisfied that this is his body, that what he’s seeing can be felt, can be trusted.  “I’m so thin… weak… I used to haul these sacks of flour.  Huge ones.  Fifty— a hundred pounds.  It was so easy—”

“You dreamed it was easy, Peeta.  There were no sacks of flour.”

“So… but… that means there’s no bakery?”

I confirm this with a nod.

“My life… my whole life… none of it was real?”

I hesitate, and in doing so I realize I have to tell him all of it.  “The people are real.  They’re all plugged into the Matrix together, interacting with each other.”

“Why?  Who would do something like this?”  Tears flood his eyes, clog his throat, stir the snot in his sinuses.

“I promise I’ll answer all of your questions, but not now.  Please just trust me.  You’re safe.  You’re alive.  _This_ is real.”  I grab his hand again and he turns toward my neck, burying his face against my skin.  I hold him close and rub his shoulder.

As he sobs weakly in my arms, I damn Finnick for making me do this part.  This is his job.  He’s the captain of the stupid ship.  He’s the one who sets up the hijackings.  He’s the one with the Mary-fucking-sunshine bedside manner.  Peeta deserves better than an awkward, painful, fumbling explanation that makes him _sob._   Damn it, he deserves better than all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't seen "The Matrix", don't worry. There is more explanation coming up. (I'm not gonna hit you with it all at once.)
> 
> For those of you who have seen "The Matrix", yes, I've kept Zion just as it is. I thought of naming it "the Capitol" but that just has too many negative connotations, I think. For me, the Matrix = the Capitol. I did rename the ship, though. The Nebuchadnezzer is now District Twelve.


	6. Peeta is given answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

I wake up next to _her._  Katniss.

Okay.  This.  Here.  Now.  Best day of my life.  Ever.

And then I remember the rest of it.  The bright light.  The unceasing roar of the engines.  The needles that had been inserted into every muscle group on my body to stimulate growth.

The fact that my whole life is a lie.

I’ve never carried a sack of flour.  Never decorated a wedding cake.  Never driven a car.  Never gotten lost in the rain when I tried to walk home from school instead of taking the subway so I could give the extra pocket change to the Mockingjays busking in the tunnels during the morning rush.  Never had my leg crushed beneath the wheels of a train.

“I never saved you.”

Katniss’ eyelashes flutter open.  She lifts her head up from the mattress, inhaling sleepily.  “What?”

I feel myself flush.  God, I’m an idiot.  “The subway.  That wasn’t real.  I never helped you at all.”

“You did,” she insists.  “I’ll show you.”

“Today?” I ask hopefully.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you can.”

I comply.

She gives me an encouraging smile.  “Not today, but soon.”

It takes time – how much I’m not sure since there are no windows or calendars in the medical bay – but it _feels_ like it takes a long time before I can sit up on my own, feed myself, stand.  Walk.

I haven’t walked properly in eight years.  No.  Scratch that.  I haven’t walked properly _ever._   I’m still not convinced that _this_ isn’t the dream.

Katniss takes me on a tour of the ship as she’d promised.  I ask a lot of stupid questions, I’m sure, but she lets me get it all out of my system.  “It’s my first hovercraft,” I explain with a crooked smile.

She affectionately pokes me in the side.

Over the course of those first few days, I notice that Katniss doesn’t really touch anyone else.  She lets Finnick put an arm around her shoulders; she lets Gale tug on her braid; she lets Rory playfully shove her arm… but she touches _me._   I wrap an arm around her waist even though I don’t need the support.  She never appears to mind when I do things like this.

“Where are your boots?” I eventually ask.  “The cool ones with the laces?”

She chews the inside of her cheek and looks down to study the clunky, heavy things she wears on her feet.  When she’d pulled me out of the way of that truck, she’d been wearing clothes and shoes of obvious quality.  Now her stretched-out sweater is layered over a threadbare shirt.  Her pants are baggy and unflattering.  I don’t understand.

“Um.  I guess now’s a good time to answer a few more of your questions.”  She leads me over to a deck of reclining chairs.  There are monitors nearby each with an intimidating assortment of cords and strange plugs.  I don’t think I’m ready for this.  Whatever “this” is.

“Hey, Rory,” Katniss calls, beckoning Gale’s younger brother over to us, “set us up for a session in the Construct.”

He nods and turns toward an array of computer monitors.  From here all I can see around Gale’s shoulders is endlessly scrolling code on the three central displays, characters moving without pause from top to bottom.  Like the rivulets of a trickling waterfall.

“I’ll go in first,” Katniss tells me, placing a hand on my arm.  Another touch.  I try not to let it distract me.  “This is going to seem a little weird, but it’s really okay.”

“Okay.”

Her smile is almost a grimace.  I watch with an iron grip on my trepidation as she climbs into the nearest seat and straps her boots to the footrest.  Then she leans back until her skull is flush with the hollowed-out headrest.  Rory picks up the largest plug and moves behind her.  Before I can call out a warning, he thrusts the thing into the back of her head.

“Load it up, Gale!” he calls out… as if he hadn’t just speared his friend’s brain with a four-inch-long metal needle.

I try to breathe.

“Hey.  Peeta.  She’s all right,” Finnick soothes me, coming up on my side.  “See?  Here are her stats on the screen.  Heartbeat… respiration…  Katniss is fine.”

I nod mindlessly.

“Never keep a lady waiting!” Gale calls out very seriously from the operator’s deck.

Rory waves at me from the next station over, holding up the plug that’s meant to fit inside my head.  I lift a hand to the back of my skull, running my fingers over the receptor site.  Katniss had explained its purpose.  It’s the jack through which I experience the Matrix.

I glance at Katniss, taking in the slight frown of concentration on her face, then her vitals on the monitor before I shuffle over to the chair and sit down.  Finnick straps my feet in.  Rory coaxes my head back.  “You don’t even know how lucky you are,” the kid says with a wily smirk, “going into the Construct with Katniss.  Shit man, _anything_ can happen in that place.”

“While the rest of us watch,” Finnick reminds him and warns me.

Rory grins and shrugs unapologetically.  I struggle to think of a witty response.  And then there’s a pressure at the back of my head, a strange friction – too hot or too cold I’m not sure which – and suddenly I’m looking at—

“Katniss?”

“This is the Construct,” she tells me as I drink her in.  The high-collared tunic is back.  It presses against her every curve with the affection of a sleek and adoring pet cat.  Her leggings outline shapely, muscular legs.  The boots – thin-soled and gleaming with mink oil – lace all the way up to her knees.

When she gestures to the space surrounding us, I force my attention to shift.  Katniss isn’t the only amazing thing: the place itself is a marvel.  Indistinct surfaces of nothing but white as far as the eye can see.  As I turn in a complete circle, I’m surprised to discover a pair of chairs when I finally face Katniss again.  Those had not been there before.  Neither had the vintage television.

“Where did those come from?”

“Coding.  Gale put them in here for us.”

“Gale?”

She nods.  “If it had been Rory, we would have gotten a vibrating bed.”

I laugh.  It’s either that or blush.  As I raise a hand to absently comb my fingers through my hair, I realize that the black plugs along my arms are gone.  I’m wearing my favorite T-shirt and a pair of old jeans.  My sneakers look newer than I remember, but they’re still mine.  I take a moment and check to see if— yes, I have my muscle definition back.  These arms can lift a hundred pounds easily.  My belly, hips, thighs… all normal again.  I reach up and grin when I realize I have hair.  The plug at the back of my head is gone.  I’m me again.

Which reminds me.

I reach down and hesitantly lift up my left pant leg.

My heart thumps in my chest at the sight of the prosthetic.  How can this…?  Didn’t I…?  The accident wasn’t real, right?  So, what is this?

“Shh, Peeta.  It’s okay.”  Her fingers curl around my upper arms.

“Why is my leg gone?”

“Because this is how you still perceive yourself.”

I stare into her eyes, fumbling to lock onto the reassurance in her voice.

“You still expect to see it, so it’s there.”

But… “This isn’t real,” I guess.  “My leg isn’t really gone.”

“No, it isn’t.”  She glances down and I quickly release the denim from my grasp.  “Did you ever get what they call ‘phantom pain’ in your leg?”

“Yeah.  All the time.”

“Well, stop ignoring it, okay?  Stop telling yourself it’s all in your head because it’s not.  That’s your real leg that you’re treating like a piece of plastic.”

“Damn,” I breathe.

“What?”

“That makes so much sense it’s scary.”  I take a step back with my right leg and concentrate on curling my toes upward inside my left shoe.  With my fake leg, this would be impossible, but I grit my teeth and strain until the canvas ripples.  My real toes are in there, I just have to believe it, trust it, and it becomes real.  I still can’t stop myself from checking: “This is real?”

Katniss tilts her head to the side.  “Yes and no.  We’re _really_ talking right now even though our bodies are still aboard the District Twelve.”

“But the chairs and TV?”

“They exist here as strings of code.  It creates impulses that the brain translates into something we recognize, something we can sit in.”  She illustrates this by plopping down into her chair and crossing her legs.

“The Matrix is like this?” I ask as I slide into my own chair.

“Much more complex, but yes.”

I trail my hands over the worn upholstery, testing the resistance and examining the texture.  Incredibly enough, this chair is totally real _inside my mind._   “So… when my mind was in the Matrix, where was my body?”

Katniss’ lashes flutter down.  Her lips compress into a thin line.  “Shit.  I wish Finnick were here to do this part.  I…  He eases into it with a little spiel that’s logical and, you know, doesn’t make you want to freak out.”

“I promise not to freak out,” I bravely vow, wringing a laugh from her.

“You’ll freak out.  Everyone freaks out.  Consider this a free pass.”

I curl each finger around the end of the armrest with exaggerated motions, making a show of bracing myself in my chair.  “Okay.  Hit me with it.  I can take it.”

She gives me a long look and a reluctant smile.  I wait as her expression sobers.  She takes a deep breath and then suddenly blurts, “Did you know that the human body produces energy?  Like, _a lot_ of energy.”

I shake my head and wonder at the sudden change of subject, but I trust her so I don’t interrupt.

“Machines need energy to survive.”

“Survive?  Don’t you mean function?”

“When we’re talking about artificial intelligence, ‘survive’ is a better word.”

And I have to believe her what with the tale she tells me about a world run by intelligent machines that had rebelled against their human masters.  And when humans had foolishly destroyed the climate, clogging the skies with enduring clouds of dust and ash, the machines – rather than “dying off” – had turned from solar power to—

“Fields, Peeta.  Fields of people.”

I stare at the television screen, my mind whirling and stomach churning at the sight of so many tanks, towers of tanks, each unit large enough for a single person to lie in – to dream in.  It is a prison they will never escape from, never even realize exists.

“This is where we found you,” she whispers.  “Where Finnick found me.  Where Mags found Finnick.  The pill you took helped us trace you so we could hack the system and flush you into the sewers.  It’s lucky we were within range already.  We don’t usually hang around there.  Too risky.”

I grimace, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on my knees.  “You pulled me out of the sewers?”

“We pull everyone we hijack out of the sewers.”

“Hijack?”

“That’s what we call it when we free someone from the Matrix, when we steal them from the machines.  We _hijack_ their energy source.”

“So, it’s like…  Is this war?  The rebellion…?”

“Never ended.  Peeta, this isn’t 1999.  This war has been going on for a long time.”

“Decades,” I muse.

“Centuries.”

I pause.  For some reason, _this_ is what tips the scales for me.  This is what makes my hands shake.  I’m caught off-guard and, in my shock, I wonder why the thought of spending my entire life encased in a glorified fish tank and being subjected to virtual reality hadn’t weirded me out before now because suddenly it does.  Suddenly, I _understand_ what Katniss had told me about all the people in the Matrix.  They’re real – my father and older brothers, my nephew and niece, my sister-in-law, even my mother – they’re all real and being held prisoner by machines milking them for their life force.

Oh my God.

My fingers curl against my scalp.  I will not lose my shit.  I will not freak out.

“Can’t we do anything to help them?”

“Six billion people?” Katniss asks softly.  “Where would we put them?  How would we feed them?  Our only city is deep underground.  A quarter of a million people live there and – trust me – when you see it, you’ll understand why we can’t just open the gates to everyone.  It’s impossible.”

“So why me?  Why take me?  I’m nobody special.”

“You are.  Peeta, that day in the subway – you saved me.  Finnick and Beetee found me in the hospital right after that and…”  Her shrug eloquently concludes that chapter of her story.

But I can think of something she might have deliberately left out: “Did they give you a choice?”

“I was twelve years old, Peeta.  What kind of choice could I have made?”

“Are you angry with them for hijacking you?”

She blows out a breath.  “Sometimes.  But they only did it because they thought it was the right thing.”

“Was it?”

The look she gives me is so utterly broken that I find myself pushing up and out of my chair so I can kneel in front of hers.  I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her closer, tucking her knees under one arm and up against my side.

“I’ve got you, Katniss.  I promised to help you, and I will.  Whatever you need.”

Her arms loop tightly around my shoulders.  She buries her face in the T-shirt fabric at the base of my neck and lets out a long, shuddering breath.  I haven’t forgotten that Finnick and the others could be watching us right now.  I just don’t give a damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the second Matrix movie (Matrix: Reloaded), one of the counselors of Zion talks about having slept for the first eleven years of his life and that line has always stuck with me. How could they unplug a child that young? It seems rather horrifying and traumatic to me. So that’s why Katniss has a moment here with Peeta.
> 
> Yes, the Matrix (for those of you who haven’t seen the movie) is a neural, interactive program – a virtual reality – designed to keep people docile so that their energy can be harvested by machines (who are artificially intelligent). (I have no idea how this is actually done. I guess, in the distant future, it’s like gathering solar power. Or whatever.)
> 
> In the movie, they “unplug” people, but in this fanfic, I thought the term “hijack” could be used instead as a nod to the books.
> 
> What Peeta does when he psychs himself into believing that he still has both legs – transforming his prosthetic into an actual leg while he’s inside the system – is kind of a big deal because something like this never happens in the movie. And I kind of wonder why not. I mean, if you are only limited by your imagination and the “rules” of the system, why can’t you “think yourself” taller or change physical aspects of yourself just like you can make yourself stronger or faster or whatever? I feel that the movies underestimate the power of human imagination, but maybe that’s just me.
> 
> So, there’s lots of speculation on exactly who is “the one” here. (“The one” is the person destined to kick ass and bring down the Matrix, thereby ending the war and freeing humanity from the machines.) Is it Peeta or Katniss? We will find out!


	7. Katniss explains life and death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

I scuff my boots against the grating. I can't figure out exactly how I feel. Embarrassed from blubbering all over Peeta in the Construct. Angry with myself for losing my shit like that. Subdued because, damn it, I'm no Mary fucking Poppins.

I sigh and reach out to pick at a flake of rusted metal. Peeta looks up at me. I try not to stare at him as we linger next to his door like a couple of teenagers saying fidgety farewells at the end of their first date. Not that I'd know.

"Did you leave any family behind?"

I suck in a breath.

He backpedals, "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

I hold up a hand and take a moment. Shit. I hadn't expected that, but he'll need to know. I have to answer him, just— just—

He waits for me to figure out what I want to say. When I do, I realize I don't want to say it in the corridor. It echoes out here. Badly. "Can I come in?"

He nods and pushes the door open, gesturing for me to go first. I sit down on his bunk as there's nowhere else to relax in the tiny, grey cell. Two people are meant to share this berth, but the top bunk has been locked up flat against the wall to give Peeta more headspace. My own little slice of District Twelve looks exactly the same.

Peeta pulls the door shut but doesn't lock it. He moves slowly and slides onto the mattress next to me. His hand curls around the edge of the mashed-down and lumpy pallet. His pinkie finger nearly brushes the outside of my leg. There's a fine tremor in his hands and his knees seem to wobble back and forth ever so slightly. He's exhausted.

I hate that I can't think of any way to begin without asking him to relive that day again.

"What do you remember seeing on the subway platform, um, before you tried to help me?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "Some guys – like, uh, FBI or CIA guys – wrestling your dad to the ground."

I nod. My throat works. I hadn't seen much through the crowd, not after my dad had shoved me away and yelled for me to run, but I'd glimpsed those men. Only, the truth is— "They're not FBI or CIA. They're not even people. I mean, they are, but…" Deep breath. Try again, Everdeen. "They're programs. Computer programs that scour the Matrix for anomalies, maintaining the status quo so no one who suspects what the Matrix really is has the chance to try and corrupt the system from the inside. It's their job to get rid of potential troublemakers."

"Like your dad?"

I blow out another breath. "That's the irony of it. Finnick and his wife, Annie, had been watching us. Me. But the agents thought they were targeting my dad, so they took him."

"Took him where?"

"For interrogation and disposal."

Peeta's mouth hangs open. "Jesus…"

"It didn't take them long to figure out that it wasn't him Finnick and Annie were after, but by then it was too late. I was out." I have to pause and gather myself before I can tell him the next part. "I was just a kid and I didn't understand anything. I wanted my mom and my sister. I was hysterical. Annie went back into the Matrix to hijack them for me, but…"

I close my eyes. Open them. Glare at the rusted floor between the toes of my ratty boots. "My mom had already disconnected. That's what they call it when your mind separates from your body. The shock of losing my dad – stuff like that happens to people on the inside sometimes. It's like when a computer freezes up."

"And there's no way to, um, reboot?"

I shake my head. "No. Not that anyone has figured out anyway. Now she's like a ghost, existing only in that moment when the police showed up on her doorstep and told her my dad was dead. Her mind is still trapped inside the system but without direct access to her brain, she can never snap out of it. She'll never remember anything beyond that moment. We can't use the red pill for her because the signal won't make it all the way to her body and without that we can't get her out. So she's stuck there until… disposal."

Peeta sniffles. I look up in time to watch him press the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Katniss," he mumbles thickly.

"Don't be sorry. Just… be careful. I mean, in the Matrix. If your mind dies in there, your body becomes catatonic here in the real world. And we don't have the resources to keep people like that alive."

He drops his hands. "So it's a death sentence."

"Yeah. And if your body dies out here, there's nothing for your mind to hold onto in there."

He nods. "That makes sense. But, what happened with your mom is that what happens if… I mean, if you reenter the Matrix from here but something happens while your mind is inside, if someone yanks out the jack—?"

"Yeah. You're disconnected. You're left with whatever thoughts and memories and ideas you took in there with you. And you'll never take it all. Why would you? You have a link to your physical mind through the jack, so you can access your memories instantaneously. Besides, uploading your entire digital self into the Matrix would take weeks." And that's a helluvalot longer than the average expedition to broadcast level.

"Have you ever met anyone like that? Someone from the outside whose mind is trapped inside the system?"

I know of only one, but I'm not ready to tell him about that. Instead of answering, I scoot a little closer, asking a question of my own in silence.

Peeta answers. His arm trembles with fatigue as he wraps it around my hunched shoulders. He's so warm. I lean into him. Just for a moment. A minute. I just need one minute and then I'll sit up. I'll be strong again.

"That isn't what happened with your sister, is it? A disconnect?" he whispers into my hair.

Maybe it'll be easier to explain while we're like this, curled around each other like puppies in a cardboard box. "My sister – Primrose – she's alive, but the system has her. Trapped. The agents…" I open my mouth to elaborate, but I just can't get the words out around my heartache. Fuck, it feels like my chest is about to explode. "I was told you could help me get her out."

Peeta shakes his head slowly. "But… how? I'm just a normal guy."

How does he always manage to ask questions that I don't have a fucking clue how to answer? "I have no idea."

He rubs my arm. His other fingers seek out mine and pull our joined hands onto his thigh. "Who told you I could help you?"

I confess, "There's someone inside the Matrix that Finnick trusts: a guide. He's the one who told Finnick about me, told him to hijack me before it was too late. His name is Haymitch and I went to see him the day I, uh, found you outside the bakery. He said you could help."

My gaze flicks up and I study Peeta's thoughtful frown for a moment before I feel compelled to add, "That alone wasn't enough to convince me to get you out, but it was enough for me to want to check on you. I asked Gale to run a search and when your name turned up in a disposal schedule, I—" Swallow. Count to ten. Okay. "I had to take a chance."

"So… you hijacked me  _not_ because this Haymitch guy told you to? You did it because I was about to die?"

I nod. "Yeah. I, um, have a habit of wiping my ass with Haymitch's advice, if you know what I mean."

Peeta snorts. The sound breaks through the layers of sorrow piling up around us and I feel the weight of the past slide back into the shadows.

He teases hoarsely, "Is it bad if I say I can almost picture that?"

I cough out a sound that might have been a bubble of laughter under other circumstances. Yeah, Peeta probably knows me well enough by now to imagine how stubborn I am. "It's just… when he mentioned you it was…"  _Like getting punched in the stomach._

He turns toward me and I force myself to answer the question I can see in his eyes.

"I didn't even know your name until I turned eighteen. We can't hack into the Matrix from Zion. I had to wait until I was old enough to sign myself on as a member of the crew before I could look up the name of the boy from the subway tunnel."

I interlock our fingers, gripping so hard my joints go bloodless. "And I found out about your leg. And that you were still alive. And…"  _I yet I'd had no idea how blue your eyes are or how soft your voice can be or how warm your hands feel…_  I bite the inside of my cheek. He doesn't need to know any of that.

With one more deliberate breath, I meet his gaze. "What?" I demand, stiffening at the sight of his slack-jawed amazement.

"I just… um. I had no idea that you knew I was there. I mean, that it was  _me,_  the kid with the pocket change…" He trails off, perhaps realizing that he's not making any sense. I'd tracked him down at his family's bakery, hadn't I? Of course I'd known who he was.

Closing his eyes, he blows out a sigh. "For years, I wasn't sure. People told me you might not even remember the accident at all and that's why you didn't contact me or—"

"Peeta." I lean closer. "You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope."

Even now with as thin as he is, he is still that boy. Despite his pallor and shorn hair, I'd recognize him anywhere. It's his eyes, I decide. They seem so dark and wide and infinite, but they are unchanged. He's still the boy who would toss a dollar and fifty cents in change into my father's guitar case every morning at the station. My dad always lamented over that – "A boy your age shouldn't have to give up his money!" – but more than once his contribution had bought us a dozen eggs and a loaf of day-old bread.

"What would you have done if I hadn't—um, if I'd chosen to stay behind?"

I have to look away. "I'm not sure I could've let you."

"Wow," he breathes after a long moment. "I guess I didn't have a choice, either."

I want to refute him, but it would be pointless. I tear my hand from his and push myself up off the bunk. I'd say I'm no better than Finnick, but I know what he'd sacrificed to save me. It doesn't take a genius to realize Annie's fate is the reason why so many of his smiles are fake. If I ever loved someone like that, there's no way I could give them up, not for anything. I'm too greedy, too selfish, too flawed.

I'm not who Finnick thinks I am. I'm not the person Annie sacrificed everything for.

I'm nobody.

"Get some sleep," I tell Peeta, navigating around his bony knees on the way out. "You're going to be busy tomorrow."

I'm nearly to the door when he rasps my name. His fingers brush against my hand. I turn around and, when I see how far he's leaning over the edge of the bunk, I take a quick step back in his direction. He's barely steady enough to keep from toppling onto the cold, metal floor.

"Yes?" I prompt, kneeling when he tugs on my hand.

"I wish I could save them. All of them."

"I know. But you saved me. You see that now, right?" If I'd died in that subway, there would've been nothing left to hijack. Mind: gone. Body: disposed of. End of story for one Katniss Everdeen.

He nods. His hands tremble as he frames my face. "Best thing I've ever done in my whole life."

"You'll do more. You'll do great things, Peeta."

He shakes his head, refusing to accept my faith in him. "No, when it all boils down, I'm pretty selfish. Does it make me a bad person if I don't regret coming here?"

I reach for his face and brush my thumb over his cheek. The soft, blond beard stubble tickles my fingers. "No."

He looks at me with soulful blue eyes until I can't take the intensity anymore. I shut my eyes. I curl my hand around the back of his neck and tilt his head forward until our brows touch. Our breaths wash over each other's cheeks. If dared to open my eyes at this proximity, I think his brilliance would immolate me on the spot.

"I matter to you." His words are little more than a breath. "Real?"

"Real," I confess. He matters more to me than I can fully express, so my admission is hardly costly. It's just the tip of the iceberg, as they say. I pet the soft bristles of his slowly lengthening hair, press a quick kiss to his cheek, and stand. This time, he doesn't try to stop me when I yank the door open and lurch into the corridor.

I stomp down to my own berth and lock the door behind me.

_Shit._

In the Matrix, it had been so easy to convince myself that my attraction to him had been as shallow as it'd been sudden, but it has just dawned on me that I don't give a rat's ass what Peeta looks like or how strong he'd been or what he used to smell like inside the system. It's his essence – his incorruptibly good heart and pure soul, his gentle touch and aching vulnerability – that calls to me.

How the hell am I ever going to get Prim out now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just about everything in this chapter has been tweaked from the way things are explained in the movie. Mr. Manny knows a lot about networks and IT stuff, so he briefly explained how a "zombie" program might still be left running in a system even after its hardware had been unplugged. That's what the deal is with Mrs. Everdeen.
> 
> In the movie, if you die in the Matrix or if your body dies while you're in the Matrix, death is immediate. I never liked that. Too simple, I guess. So, in this fic, if your mind is killed in the Matrix, you're body is still alive, but you're in a coma or something. As in: the lights are on but nobody's home. And since there's no room in Zion (like District 13) for people who put a drain on the resources, they can't afford to keep them alive when there's no hope they'll ever recover. (I think the machines might even get a little vengeful satisfaction from making the humans kill their own kind.)
> 
> More on Primrose later. I'm being purposefully vague at the moment.
> 
> Next up: Peeta starts his training aboard the District Twelve.


	8. Peeta requires the right motivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

I’m already awake when my door squeals open and light from the corridor floods my, uh, room.  I sit up, already dressed and ready to go, but pause when I see that it’s not Katniss standing on the threshold but Rory.

I can only imagine the look on my face.  Rory grins widely.  “She’s busy with repairs,” he informs me before I can cobble together a tactful way to ask.  “So it’s just you and me this morning, Lover Boy.”

“What?”

Rory smirks, leans against the door frame and crosses his plugless arms over his chest.  “Did you think nobody noticed that you and Katniss have a thing?”

A thing?  Like a life-debt?

“Dude.  She let you hug her in the Construct yesterday.  She _cried on your shoulder._   You guys got a thing.”

“Fine,” I agree, secretly pleased and silently horrified.  Katniss has lived through so many tragedies.  If I were her, I’d be a fucking mess every damn minute of every single day.  She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.  I’m honored and humbled that she trusts me enough to let me help her, to lean on me and let me keep her safe and sound and standing upright.  I tell Rory, “I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you.”

He chuckles.  “Shit, man, you even sound like her.”

I decide to take that as a compliment.  Pushing gingerly off from my lumpy mattress, I ask, “What’s on the agenda?”

Rory throws an arm around my shoulders.  “Good times, man.  Good times.”

“I think we disagree on the definition of good times,” I inform him two hours later.  So far, all he’s done is stuff my head full of computer languages and combat training.  Why do I need this shit?  It hasn’t helped Katniss hijack her sister so what good is it going to do in _my_ head?

Rory groans.  “Oh, man.  C’mon.  Put your back into it, huh?  This shit’s important.  And you’re totally crapping all over my record.”

“Your record?”

“Yeah.  You’re my first trainee.  Don’t leave me oh-and-one.”

I sigh.

“Okay, let’s try this,” he suggests a bit desperately.

The screen in front of me blinks, announcing the topic of the next upload.  “Aikido?” I read.  Why bother with Japanese martial arts when I already know how to field strip and assemble a variety of semi-automatic weapons in the dark and underwater?

“Yes, aikido.  Please don’t suck.”

I sit back and bite down on a second sigh.  “Okay then.  Fill ‘er up.”

I hear the tapping of keys behind me.  I close my eyes, curling my fingers around the battered armrests to brace myself.  A tingle deep within my brain is the only warning I have then suddenly I know how to walk on my knees in silence and how to fluidly tumble under an opponent’s sweeping arm.  I know exactly what amount of force to apply to the pressure point on the human hand in order to make the fingers go nerveless and drop the knife in their grasp.

In an instant, I have all of this knowledge, and now it’s time for me to spar with a simulated opponent, but I’m bored with all this.  I just want to see Katniss, ask how she’s doing today, check to see if she’d slept all right, sneak a hug.  I miss her.  She’s the reason I’m here, not these glorified video games.

When my mind drifts and I fail a simple maneuver, the simulation ends and a string of curses welcomes me back to the deck.

“Problems, Rory?”

I grin at Katniss’ droll remark.  “Hey,” I greet.

“Hey, yourself.  Are you giving this idiot fits?”

She leans a hip against my chair and crosses her arms.  Her hair is lank with sweat and I catch a whiff of that peculiar odor that melted metal gives off – something acidic and dry.  “Yup,” I reply.

“Hm.  I should have known you wouldn’t behave yourself.”

I shrug.  “I guess I don’t have the right motivation.”

“Right,” she agrees, her lips curving into an almost smile.  I grin back at her, unashamed of my enthusiasm.  She squints at me for a minute and then her expression sobers as she looks over my head and back toward the operator’s station.  “Load me up, Rory.  And give us an hour in seventy-one-dash-G.”

“Uh, are you sure about that?  If Finnick—”

“I’ll deal with Finnick.  Peeta and I have both earned a break.”

“Okay then…”

Katniss squeezes my hand and then pivots away and hoists herself into the next seat all in one fluid motion that I catch out of the corner of my eye.  I wish I could turn my head but there isn’t much clearance around the plug still embedded in my skull and after what she’d told me yesterday evening – after learning what the consequences of being disconnected are – I’m not in the mood to test my luck.

“Where are we going?” I ask cheekily, thrilled that she’s here, that she’d stood up for me against Rory.

“Someplace quiet.”

I blink, my head tingles, and when I open my eyes, I’m staring out over a low, stone wall ringing a cobblestone courtyard, taking in an illuminated cityscape.  It’s midnight and I can smell rain on the breeze, dusty and lush.  I’ve missed this smell.  Smells.  I’ve missed so many things, even if they hadn’t been real.

“See?  Quiet.”

“Hey,” I greet her, smiling at her approach.  Her hair is in a braid like always, but tonight she’s wearing a dark tank top and a pair of old shorts.  Her hunting boots look a little scuffed, but they embrace her legs all the way up to her knees.  God I love those boots.  It drives me nuts imagining tugging those laces free and peeling the leather down her calves.  I think I actually dreamed of her ankles last night.  We were in the back of a car speeding down a thoroughfare and the constant shift of streetlight and shadow had frustrated me to no end as I’d tried to decide exactly what shade the skin of her bare legs had been.

I clear my throat.  “Um, nice view.”

She nods, stepping up to the wall next to me and bracing her hands on the stone.  I study her as she looks out over the vista.  “I like it.”

“Where are we?”

“Lisbon.  Um, this is a castle ruin within the city limits.”

I frown.  “Is this really out there somewhere?  Still?”

“I’ve never been to the surface,” she admits, “but I don’t think so.”

“Then how do we even know this is what Lisbon looked like?”

“The Matrix,” she answers with a sardonic grin.

“Wow,” I answer.  “A prison that preserves our cultural heritage.”  Ironic.

Katniss snorts.  “That little bit of admiration is going to turn into horror once I take you to a Chuck E. Cheese’s.”

“The kids arcade?  I love that place!”

She chuckles.  “You would.”

The wind stirs again and I take a deep breath.  The streets are winding and quaint.  Romantic.  Draped in shadows that are meant to be entered while clasping a lover’s hand.  I daringly reach for Katniss.  “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Okay.”

We wander down the castle hill, passing souvenir shops with their shutters closed for the day.  I can hear music in the distance; there must be an open-air bar around the corner.  I wish I knew how to dance.  I might actually pay attention to _that_ training program.

_“Boa noite!”_ an older woman calls from across the street beside a cart overflowing with flowers.  She waves an arm toward the blossoms and I _ache_ to buy one for Katniss.  I check my pockets, but I only come away with American coins, a couple crumpled bills, and my old inhaler.  My usual pants pocket fodder.  I’m pretty sure the flower vendor only accepts Euros.

“Peeta?” Katniss inquires, frowning at me.

I feel a flush begin to creep up my neck.  “Uh… um…”  And then I glimpse something out of the corner of my eye: a miracle.  I keep my grip on Katniss’ hand as I step over to the patch of greenery poking up between the stones and pluck a single, yellow bud from the cluster.

“A dandelion?”  Somehow she manages to pack an entire age of philosophical inquiry into the single phrase.

“Yeah.  I’m sorry I don’t have any Euros on me right now.”

“It’s okay.  These are my favorite anyway.”

I inhale sharply when her fingers brush mine as she steadies my hand, leans forward, and breathes from the blossom deeply.  “Here,” I offer in a hoarse whisper.  I tuck the flower above her left ear.  I take my time because, damn it, her hair feels amazing against my fingertips and, yes, I’m stalling.  I want to kiss her, but I know Rory’s probably watching us on one of the monitors and I’m not sure if I care but I think Katniss might so—

Running footsteps approaching.

Katniss’ gaze flies over my shoulder, her eyes widening and body tensing.

I cry out when my head hits the wall.  My vision blurs and my knees buckle.  Something hot and wet drips into my eyes.  But it’s not until Katniss’ hand is yanked from mine that I panic.

“Katniss!”

Angry words.  A man’s voice.  A feminine grunt.  I force open my eyes in time to see Katniss’ back connect against the wall and her head knock against the tiles.  She winces, brings her hands up in surrender.

Distant lamplight winks off of the blade in the man’s grasp.

I don’t even have to think about it.  I charge him, clamp my arms around his waist and spin him away from Katniss, slamming him into the street and pinning his wrists behind his back.  Perhaps I apply a little too much pressure to his hand, but the knife clatters onto the stones so I don’t second guess myself.

All of this happens in an instant and in a blur.  I startle when I feel Katniss’ hands grip my shoulders.  I look up into her eyes.  I blink and nighttime Lisbon melts away, leaving us in the endless, seamless, white glow of the Construct.

“Shh, you’re all right.  Just breathe.  Like this.”  She inhales deliberately and I realize that I’m panting, almost hyperventilating.  Why don’t I need my inhaler?  Oh, right.  Because none of this is real.  Because _that_ hadn’t been real.  I’d never had asthma to begin with.

“Good,” Katniss praises softly.  “Good.  Just like that.  You’re all right.  You did really well.”

“I… what?”

She answers my frown with a soft smile.  “If this had been the Matrix, you would have saved my life again.”

My lips purse but I can’t decide which question to ask.  Had she seriously just put me through a mugging simulation?

Finally, I just shake my head.  “Okay.  You’ve made your point.  I’m motivated now.”  I attempt a glare.  “But did you have to scare the shit out of me?”

“I am sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.  You can make it up to me later.”

She almost laughs.  “You have my word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, none of the stuff in this chapter happens in the movie like this. BUT! The fight in the dojo and the jump are coming up. (I wouldn't cheat you guys outta that!) (^_~)


	9. Katniss is overwhelmed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

“You know, this wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to make it up to me,” Peeta mutters, wincing as I dab an antibiotic gel onto his knuckles.

“Well, next time, don’t flail your arms around when you’re practicing tae kwon do.”  He’d left a bit of skin on the corner of the monitor.

He rolls his eyes.  “Right.  First, you complain because I’m not getting into my training, and now you’re complaining because I’m taking it seriously.”

“I never complained.”

“All your complaints are silent.  That doesn’t mean you don’t still make them.”

Again, he almost wrings a laugh out of me.  What is it about him that makes me smile so damn much?  “What are you, a mind-reader?”

“Nope, just a really good guesser _and,”_ he continues with a grin that hasn’t changed since the days he’d been a little boy getting away with hiding sweets under his bed, “I just got you to admit to complaining.”

“Silently.”

“Oh, no.  That admission was very audible.”

I sigh through a smile.  “Oh, shut up.”

His grin widens.  I hadn’t thought it possible that it could.

“C’mon,” I mutter, refusing to be charmed.  “Let’s eat and then I’m turning you over to Finnick.”

“Oh?”  The stool he’d been perching on clatters as he stands.  Holy hell, it’s impossible for him to move with any stealth whatsoever.

“Yeah.”

He scrambles to reach the medical bay door before I do so he can be a gentleman and hold it open for me.  He ought to look ridiculous with his weeks’ worth of hair sticking straight up on his head instead of fucking gorgeous.  “Well, Finnick’s nice and all but—”

“He’s a better teacher than I am.”

Peeta scoffs.  I lead the way down the corridor to the mess hall.

“Seriously,” I tell him.  “Do what Finnick tells you… unless you’re harboring a secret desire to hit me as hard you can.”

“Hit you?  No!”  I’ve never seen him look more horrified, not even when I’d first introduced him to the gruel we eat for every single meal aboard the District Twelve.  “Is that what he has in store for me?”

I gasp, my hand flying up to my mouth and my eyes widening.  “Oh, shit.  Did I just ruin the surprise for you?” I mock.

He bumps my shoulder with his and presses a hand over the mess hall door.  My gaze follows the lines of his slowly developing muscles past the bend in his elbow, over his wrist to the fingers splayed against the cold metal.  Masculine.  Reaching.  Greedy.  Is that what his hand would be like against my skin?

“Katniss?” he prompts in a strangled tone.

I tear my attention away from his pale hand and look into his eyes.  That’s my second mistake.  Ogling him had been my first.  Now I watch as he licks his lips.  Mistake number three.

“Aren’t you hungry?”  The words are a jumble in my ears, but I read the ache in his tone.

I can’t handle this.  “Actually, you go on ahead.  I have to—um, something to check.”

And then I jog back toward the broadcast deck before he can try to stop me.  Thank God he doesn’t holler after me.  That would be unforgivably mortifying.

“Yo, Catnip.”

“Gale,” I greet.

He nods distractedly as he scans the coding which drips down each of the three main monitor screens. “Where’s Peet?  Picking out the wedding invitations?”

“Piss off,” I growl.

He chuckles.  “Not a chance in hell.  I wanna see the Great Katniss falling all over herself for a boy.  Been waiting for this for a _long_ time.”

“Well, go ahead and hold your breath a little longer then.  I’m sure the brain damage is already permanent.”

“I hope you’re not standing him up for that lunch date he was looking forward to all morning.  Wouldn’t shut up about it.  Kinda sickening if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”  But his jibe is enough to send me back down the corridor.

I stomp so I don’t have to listen to his chuckle of triumph rolling along the walls in my wake.  I slam the mess hall door open and feel every irritation abandon me at the sight of Peeta sitting down at the long table.  There are two bowls of goop in front of him and he holds a spoon in each hand.  With a boyish grin, he brandishes one in my direction.

“Everything check out?”  I can’t tell if he’s teasing or not.

“Yeah.  Gale’s got it under control,” I grumble.  Since Peeta and I are the only ones in the room at the moment, I climb over the top of the table, swinging my feet around and stepping down onto the bench before taking a seat next to him.  I jostle him a bit just to see if it makes his smile wider.

It does.

I accept the spoon.  “Thanks,” I tell him.

“You’re welcome.”

We poke at our gruel a bit and I notice that he seems to be mirroring my table manners, coating his spoon with the stuff before sucking it clean.  This is the only way I’ve been able to stomach it.  I can’t stand to watch Gale and Rory eat, shoveling the goop into their maws and swallowing whole mouthfuls.  Of course, they’ve never tasted things like grilled lamb or roast potatoes, double cheese pizza or dark cherry ice cream so they don’t know what they’re missing.

“Please tell me,” Peeta begins with a hesitance I’ve never heard from him before, “that we have a Construct-based program for food that tastes halfway decent.”

I smile.  “Nope.  Sorry.”

He coats his spoon again, rolling the utensil through the lumpy goo, and groans.  “Ugh.  Seriously?  Why has no one invested serious amounts of energy into a restaurant program?”

I shrug.  “I guess it’s never been very high on resistance priorities.”

“Well, it ought to be.  This stuff is offensive to my taste buds.  Does it smell like wet dog to you?”

I snort so hard my palate vibrates.  “Why do you think I eat at glacial speed?  I can almost pretend there’s no smell if I keep the bites small enough.”

“Yeah, I just picked up on that.  Handy trick.  It still smells like wet dog, though.”

“Are you allergic?”

“You mean _was_ I?”

“Yeah.”

“Nope.”  He sighs.  “Resistance or not, I still think people need more than perfectly nutritious slime to be happy.”

I’m in the middle of offering him an agreeable shrug when the door bangs open and Johanna saunters in.  “Oooh, are we debating the range of human needs again?”  She plops down on the bench across from me and gives my foot a kick beneath the table.  “What say you and I run through that Agent Program again, brainless?  Have us some eye candy?”

Beside me, Peeta coughs into his wet dog slime.  “Wh-what?  You guys have—?”

Johanna lounges, enjoying his wide-eyed shock.  “Oh, yeah.  Hot stuff in that simulation.  Ain’t that right, Kat?”

I feel a wide, embarrassed grin pulling at my lips.  My spoon clatters into my bowl of mush as I hide my face in my hands.  Shit, the last thing I want is for Peeta to see me blush, but damn I just can’t help it!

“Uh-huh,” Jo drawls lustily.  “I could lick that up one side and down the other then slurp up what’s in between all.  Damn.  Day.  Long.”

“Are we talking about the same training simulation?” Peeta ventures, referring to the program designed to distract you long enough for an agent to overwrite one of the people still hardwired into the Matrix and level a gun at your head.  It’s a very educational program, highlighting the fact that anyone who hasn’t been hijacked yet is a potential enemy.  And it also teaches you to pay the hell attention and watch your fucking ass.

Peeta’s face is turning pink as he checks, “The program with the woman in the red dress?”

Johanna cackles evilly.

I shake my head, force my flush to dissipate, and then drop my hands.  “No.  Um.  We got Version B.”

“B, for beautiful, buff boy,” Johanna finally admits.  She waggles her brows at me and I can’t help but remember that training program and the gorgeous specimen of manhood that strolls down the street in a tight, white tank top and ripped up blue jeans.  The engineers had even included cologne: sandalwood.  Fuck all, that’s the best part.  Some enterprising programmers had subsequently designed an interactive erotica program featuring Mr. Sexy Sandalwood.  There’s a mirror version featuring Miss Red Dress, which is who Peeta must have met this morning when Beetee had taken him through the simulation.

“Seriously, I need to work off some steam with that.  Gonna load up and, ah, _unload_ later.  You’re welcome to watch…” she asks both of us with a leer.

“Go fuck Mr. Pixels, Jo,” I mutter.  “Rory can have my front row seat.”

She gives me a cocky salute.  “Will do, Soldier Katniss.  What about you, our valiant virgin?  Care to have your porn cherry popped?”

Again, Peeta chokes.  He works through it, though, and manages a smile.  “No, thank you.  I’m good, actually.”

“Oh?”  Johanna gives me an expectant look.  “Well, I’ll believe that when I hear it being groaned in the halls by Miss Heart-of-Stone, here.”  She licks her lips, rolls her head to the side, closes her eyes and groans, “Oh, _Peeta… so good… yes, right there…!”_

I’m going to kill her.  Slamming my hand down on the table, I bark, “Jo!  Go away.  Piss off.  Be gone.  Fu—”

The squeal of the mess hall door swinging open cuts off the march of synonyms.

“Katniss, Peeta, Johanna,” Beetee greets blandly as if hadn’t heard the last five seconds of our conversation.  He heads straight for the goop dispenser and prepares a bowl for himself.

Johanna gives me a wide smile and an eyebrow wiggle just to keep me twitching with the need to smack her.

Beetee remarks, “Peeta, when you’re ready, Finnick’s waiting for you at the broadcast deck.”

“Got it,” he answers and, with a resigned sigh, starts eating faster.

I bite back a smile; I’m pretty sure he’s holding his breath.

“And I’ve got some data for you, Katniss,” Beetee continues, dispassionately addressing the gruel in his bowl.

“Yeah?  Weather algorithms?”  It’s a weird little hobby of mine, trying to crack the Matrix weather codes.  As if I could ever be some kind of weather-wielding superhero or something.  God.  I’m such a dork.

“No.  Agent.”

Johanna’s playful smirk freezes on her face.  I have to clear my throat out loud before I can ask, “Who—?”

Beetee answers solemnly.  “Clove.  Aboard the District Two.”

“Did she make it out?”  I don’t know why I bother to hope.  The answer is always the same.

Beetee shakes his head.  “No.  Agent got her.”

Peeta sets his spoon down.  I pick mine up as if eating will somehow make me too busy to be furious on her behalf.  We’d gone through the academy together.  We’d hated each other, yes, but Clove had been a damn good infiltrator and fighter.

Goddamn agents.

“Has anyone?” Peeta asks.  “Survived an encounter with an agent?”

“Only if they run their pert little asses off,” Johanna informs him.

“So… what are you doing with data on them?” Peeta inquires awkwardly.

Beetee answers for me.  “Katniss is attempting to infer the algorithms that govern their code.  The security encryption is very elaborate and constantly adapting.  The more data we have, the more accurate our equations will be.  With luck, we’ll eventually be able to weaponize it for use inside the Matrix.”

God what I wouldn’t give to just fucking erase those agents from every computer language in the known universe.

I refuse to let myself look at Peeta when he next asks, “How do you come across data on agents for this?”

“Every time someone reenters the Matrix and comes into contact with an agent, their ship’s operator gets a data stream on the agent for as long as the fight lasts.”

“And how long is that, typically?”

“Typically?” Beetee echoes.  “About fourteen seconds.  Give or take.”

Give or take.  We give.  They take.

I push my bowl away.

“I’m ready to look at that data whenever you are, Beetee,” I offer.

He nods.

Beneath the table, Peeta’s hand seeks out mine.  I close my eyes and return the comforting squeeze of his fingers, wondering how much longer this war can go on, wondering who else will be sacrificed to it before the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in my Matrix headcanon, learning to manipulate the Matrix code plays a much bigger role in this universe than, say, looking badass and kicking butt. I can't say much more without spoilERing you, but... um... yeah. (^_~)
> 
> Also, the Lady in the Red Dress (as well as the training program she's featured in) is from the movie. Mr. Sexy Sandalwood, though, is my creation because, hey EQUAL OPPORTUNITY. Heh.


	10. Peeta takes a leap of faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV
> 
> Also, those of you who have seen the movie will recognize a lot of things in this chapter. But I've changed up a few details just to keep it fresh. (^_^)

“So, you’re in love with Katniss.”

I blink.  “What?”  Is she watching this?  Is this going to get back to her?  The last thing I want to do is freak her out.  Especially after the epically bad way we’d ended lunch.  Someone Katniss had probably known is dead.  Killed.  In the Matrix by an agent.  Holy shit, this is real.

Finnick leans against a wooden beam in the dojo as if we have all the time in the world, as if this is supposed to be fun, as if my feelings for Katniss are somehow relevant to me beating the shit out of someone.

Yes, we’re inside the ship’s multi-player interactive sparring program and I’m pretty sure this is the part where I’m supposed to hit him like I mean it.  I think I’m ready for this, but it looks like Finnick needs to work up to it.

He rolls his eyes at my dense response.  “Let’s conduct a simple survey.  Answer yes or no.  Ready?”

I nod once even as I narrow my eyes at him.  What the hell is this guy’s game?

He begins, “You would risk your life for her.”

“Yes.”

“You agreed to be hijacked so she wouldn’t walk out of your life.”

“Yes.”

“You know how special she is.”

“Yes.”

“She’s going to end the war.”

“… what?”

“Ah,” Finnick sighs.  “So she _hadn’t_ told you that.”  He steps away from the building support and prowls closer.  “Katniss is the one.  The _One,_ Peeta.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she’s going to put a stop to the fighting.  She’s going to deliver peace.  Victory.”

“Those two aren’t necessarily the same thing,” I point out.

“They will be by the time Katniss is through.”

“How do you even know she can do something like that?”  I’d seen her in the Lisbon program.  She hadn’t even tried to defend herself from her assailant.  How can Finnick expect her to go up against an entire race of machines?  The Matrix itself?  _Agents?_

“Several reasons,” he begins.  Finnick’s grin tilts until is it so crooked I half expect the room to wobble around us.  “Unfortunately, she hasn’t let you see her in action yet.  She’s breathtaking.”

“You sound a little in love with her yourself.”

Finnick finds this amusing.  Once he gets done laughing, he replies, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that score, but there’s another thing you really should consider.”

“What’s that?”

“Katniss is called the _One._   Not the _One Plus One.”_   A coldness begins to seep through me at the sudden, hard look in Finnick’s green eyes.  “Her path is not for mere mortals.  If you’re going to try and walk it with her, you’re gonna have to start being amazing… unless you want to be left behind.  Or worse: unless you want to get in her way.”

I swallow thickly.  My throat hurts.  My chest aches.

“So now that you know what’s on the line, let’s get started.  And, just to give you the proper motivation,” he continues with a wicked grin, “I’ll be sending Katniss into the Matrix tomorrow on a little errand.  If you’d like to tag along, you’ll have to hit me.”

“Oh, I will,” I promise.  I’ll hit the smug sonuvabitch.  And I’ll _mean_ it.

Finnick takes a confident step forward and then another.  “Right, let’s get start—”

His head snaps back.  My knuckles throb.  I smirk.  “Oh, sorry.  Should I wait until you’re ready?”

The captain of the District Twelve actually _giggles._   He rubs his chin.  “Why thank you.  Such respect you pay to your elders.”

Because I’m expecting the attack, I manage to dodge his fist, block the follow-up kick, and counter with both fists.  He blocks.  I duck.  He weaves.  I feint.  We circle each other.

“What happened to your righteous anger, Peeta?  I thought you were planning on hitting me sometime today.”

I redouble my efforts.

It gets me nothing but a pair of burning lungs and a body of quivering muscles.

I roll out of the way of Finnick’s lunge and gain my feet just in time to hear him sigh.  “Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.  I thought Katniss already went over this with you.”

“What?” I demand, blinking the sweat from my eyes.

“Where exactly are you right now?”

“Aboard the District Twelve.”

“Yes.  Which is where the air is, where the gravity is, where the heat and cold are.”  He glances around pointedly.  “What makes you think you _need_ to breathe in this place?  Why _must_ your muscles get tired here?  Or your body sweat?  We’re inside a computer program.  Do pixels breathe?  Bleed?  Sweat?  No,” he says, answering his own series of questions.  “They don’t.”

“I bled plenty in that Lisbon program,” I remind him.

“Because you were letting the code work you instead of the other way around.  All of this—”  He gestures to the dojo.  “—is built on rules.  Start using them to your advantage.  Start bending them.  Breaking them.  Free your mind.”

Right.  Okay.

I throw a punch.  He blocks it.  Trips me.  I roll twice before pushing myself to my feet.

“You move like you’ve only got one leg to work with, Peeta!”

Is he trying to piss me off?  “That’s not as funny as you think it is.”

“Actually, it is.  When you consider the fact that you don’t have _any_ legs at all in this place…”  He shrugs genially.  “This is all in your mind.  You are as fast as you believe you are.  You are as strong as you know you are.  Your limits here are only as narrow as your imagination.”

Shit.  Well, when you put it that way…

Finnick beckons me closer.

I oblige.  I speed toward him, stop on a dime, twist out of the way of his fist, and slam mine into his gut.

He flies back and hits one of the wooden supports so hard it cracks.

And then Finnick _himself_ cracks up.  “Yes!  Brilliant!  We might make a fighter out of you yet!  Gale!”  He doesn’t look away from me as he calls out to the operator.  “Load the Jump Program.”

And between one instant and the next, the dojo melts away, folds down into a singularity of one datum and then explodes outward, placing Finnick and me onto the roof of a building.  Fifty floors high if it’s a single story.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to the purpose of this simulation.”

Well, he’d called it the Jump Program.  When Finnick tilts his head toward a neighboring building, equally tall, six traffic lanes and two sidewalks distant, I feel dread harden in the pit of my belly.

“You make this jump, I’ll let you go in with Katniss tomorrow.  You botch it and we’re gonna drop you off at Zion where you’ll be spending a full year at the training academy before you’ll be considered eligible to serve on a crew.”

I challenge, “Even if I make it and I go in tomorrow, who’s to say you won’t dump me at Zion anyway?”

Finnick gives me a smile that almost looks sad.  “A captain’s recommendation could put you on the fast track.  Two months and then your choice of ships.”

I don’t even try to hide my skepticism.  Why, after warning me away from Katniss, is he offering to help me stay with her?  “You would do that?”

“Sure.  If you earn it.  Let’s see what you’ve got, Peeta.”  And then with two running steps, he launches himself from the edge of the roof and arcs through the air, landing neatly and with a city-quaking thud on the opposite structure.

I bite my lip as I measure the distance with my gaze.  In the real world, this would be impossible, but nothing is impossible here.  I am as fast, as strong, and as tireless as _I_ want to be.

No limits.

I close my eyes and purposefully build the illusion that will get me where I need to be: Katniss is waiting for me on the other building – she needs my help – I have to get to her.   _Now._

Opening my eyes, I clench my jaw and brace my foot against the roofing tiles beneath the soles of my sneakers.  I count down.  Wind up.  Launch forward – one step, another, a third.  I don’t think about the empty space in front of me.  I don’t look down.

I think of Katniss.

I leap from the edge.


	11. Katniss gains a partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

My mouth drops open.

Oh my God.

Finnick can’t be serious.  The _Jump_ Program?  After only two days of training and a single sparring session?  Is he _insane?_

This is the first time I’ve damned the lack of audio speakers.  The operator is the only one patched into the conversation going on inside the training simulations, but I’d give anything to hear Finnick’s justification for this.  For now, though, there’s nothing I can do except watch along with Johanna, Beetee, Gale, and Rory as Peeta sizes up the jump.

There’s no way he’ll be able to make it on the first try.  Finnick is setting him up to fail.  I grit my teeth, hating what I know is about to happen.  Peeta’s going to fall and then he’s going to start doubting himself and I need Peeta to _not_ doubt himself!

God damn it, why had Finnick decided to push him so fucking soon?

I stare at Peeta – not of his image on the screen, but the _real_ him, stretched out in a broadcast chair just out of arm’s reach.

“Shit, he’s going for it,” Johanna hisses and suddenly I’m staring at the monitor, my heart sinking as Peeta adopts a starting position that vaguely resembles one used by sprinters.

Fuck.  If he needs to psych himself up for it this much, he’ll never make it.  I can’t watch.  I can’t look away.  He takes a deep breath.  Glares into the distance.  Propels himself forward – one, two, three, _leap!_

Holy fuck, he might actually make it.

_Flatten out, damn you!  Minimize the programmed air resistance!_

He doesn’t.  Shit.  He’s gonna land short.

But he’s so close.  So close.  So close!

But not close enough.

He reaches out, stretching forward to make up the distance but he misses the ledge.

He’s falling.

Oh God.  Peeta.

But then I realize that his hands are scrabbling over the side of the building.  He hasn’t given up.  His fingertips just catch a window sill two stories below the roof.  Somehow he holds on.  Somehow, he convinces himself that his hands are strong enough to bear his weight, that his arms haven’t been ripped from their shoulder joints.  His momentum sends him crashing into the side of the building.  He puts his foot through a pane of glass, but he doesn’t let go.

He starts to climb.

“Oh holy shit,” Johanna appraises.

I second that.

I’m still gaping when he hauls himself up over the edge of the roof with a winning smile.

Finnick replies with a grin and a nod.  He must ask Gale to end the simulation because the next thing I know I’m watching Peeta’s blue eyes blink open and I’m clamoring over to his chair so that I’m the first person he sees.

“How’d I do?” he asks me.

I kiss him.  On the mouth.  In front of everyone.  His hands burrow into my loosely braided hair.  His lips open and suddenly our connection is wet and lush.  He tastes even better in the real world than he had in the Matrix.

Oh, fuck.  How is that even _possible?_

Someone clears their throat.  I don’t want to lean away.  Once I do, I’ll get embarrassed, but I can imagine Peeta’s delighted smile and that’ll probably make up for it.  Shit.  Okay.  I can do this.  I can face the crew.

Bracing myself on Peeta’s shoulders – still so thin! – I begin to lean away.  For a moment, he follows after me, his lips clinging to mine hungrily, but then he sags back into the seat.  I was right about his smile.  How can I be embarrassed about anything that makes him so fucking happy?

He caresses along my jaw, beneath my ears, down the sides of my neck.  “Whoa,” he breathes.

I laugh and his smile becomes _radiant._

“I hope you two can keep it under control tomorrow when you’re on the inside,” Finnick remarks off-handedly.  In fact, his tone is so casual, it takes me a second before the words really register and then—

“What?”

Peeta winces as Rory removes the jack from the back of his skull.  I glare at Finnick, waiting for an explanation.

“You’re both going in tomorrow.”

No way.  Why?  Is he crazy?  “What for?”

Finnick gives me one of his you-must-be-new-to-this-whole-thinking-thing looks.  “To see Haymitch of course.  He told you to hijack Peeta, so we’re taking Peeta to see him.”

I gape.  I want to say it’s too soon.  I want to say it’s no use.  I already know what Peeta’s role is going to be and I don’t need a reminder.  Goddamn it, why the hell had Haymitch opened his stupid mouth in the first place and—!

“Okay, Finnick, now I really want to hit you,” Peeta confesses.  He sits forward and rubs a hand over his face as if he could scrub the urge off of his skin.  He mutters, “You said I wasn’t going in if I couldn’t make the jump!”

“Well…” Finnick drawls, “If you’d failed I still would have had you go in… just after another round of training.  But I was serious about the second part of the deal.”

“What deal?”

Peeta fills me in, his voice dropping as if announcing the agreement will nullify it, “Zion for a year of training minimum, or a captain’s recommendation and the two-month fast track plus my choice of ship.”

“The fast track?” Johanna squawks, stalking over to Finnick.  “Don’t tell me you’re gonna let him get away with that!  Besides, he didn’t _make_ the jump!”

“Technically, he did,” Finnick returns levelly.

I let them hash it out.  Nothing I can say will make an appreciable contribution to the debate, and I refuse to deal with Johanna when she goes into semantics like this.  What I _should_ be doing is trying to convince Peeta to stay aboard.  There’s no reason for him to go in.  In fact, he hasn’t even finished the full training course!  He’s only been at this for two days!

“I can’t go in tomorrow,” I assert, causing both Finnick and Johanna to pause.  “I’ve got data to comb through with Beetee.”

Johanna grins triumphantly.  “See?”

Finnick grins.  “Don’t pretend you two won’t be done with that by dinnertime.”  He saunters over and throws an arm around my shoulders.  “The truth of the matter, Katniss, is I figure it’s about time you had a partner.  Besides, Beetee’s been on my case about implementing the most recent system upgrades.  We can’t afford to let him get behind.”

Right.  God fucking forbid Beetee lose an hour of coding time because I need him to hold my damn hand whenever we hack in.  “I don’t need a partner,” I grit out.

Even Johanna laughs at that.

Finnick sighs indulgently.  “We’ve talked about this, Catnip.  The answer hasn’t changed since.”

“Goddamn it!” I snarl.  “There’s no point in going to see Haymitch!  I already know why I had to get Peeta out and it’s got _nothing_ to do with the resistance!”

Everyone freezes.  Stares.  The soft hum of the engines and the buzz of the lights swell to fill the vacuum left in the wake of my declaration.

I rewind the moment.  Retrace my exact words.

Oh.  Shit.

I pinch my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and inhale deeply.  Okay.  Right.  I can’t hide my agenda from them forever.  Sooner or later, they’re going to need to know.  Sooner or later, I’ll need their help.

Finnick chuckles warmly from very close by.

My eyes fly open.

“Oh, Catnip.”

I stiffen as Finnick’s hands squeeze my shoulders and then teasingly cup my face.  He sighs.  His expression is so patronizing I’m half a breath away from pummeling him.  “What Haymitch said was for you alone.”  The words strike a chord; I’ve heard them before.  He continues, “His message prompted you to hijack Peeta, which was exactly what Haymitch wanted you to do.  Now that we have him—”

I slap his hands away.  “We just hand him over to Haymitch for that old lush to play with?  Fuck off, Finn.  Peeta doesn’t have to go see that bastard.”

“What are you afraid of?  Haymitch doesn’t bite.”

No.  He just… prophesizes.  Which, in my opinion, is worse.  There are some things you can’t slap a bandage over to repair.

“Don’t do this to him, Finn,” I breathe.  This is as close to begging as I’ll ever come.  “Let him have a choice.”

“Katniss.”  Peeta’s fingers graze my arm.  I’m surprised that he’s a bit blurry around the edges when I look at him.  I blink and he snaps into focus.  “I’ve already made my choice.  Nothing this guy can say is going to change that.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is me totally making up how training for hacking into the Matrix and piloting a hovercraft would go. Katniss - as "the one" - has been given 6 years of training, which I think would be pretty unusual. In my mind, everyone who is hijacked gets a year at the academy before specializing in something, which doesn't have to be aboard a hovercraft.


	12. Peeta meets the oracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

Reentering the Matrix is like pulling on an old jacket.  Something you’d worn years ago in school.  It still fits, somehow, but it’s musty from being shoved in the back of your closet and kinda makes your skin crawl.  You want to wash it and then yourself, but you know that you can’t scrub away all the memories that cling to it.  You’re not supposed to like your past self.  You’re not supposed to get along.  This is the old you smothering the new you.

It chafes.

It’s all I can do not to scratch until I bleed.

I wonder if I’ll cross paths with my dad and my brothers, my buddies from high school and the junior college where I’d learned bookkeeping before I’d started working at the bakery full-time.

I wonder what everyone thinks has happened to me.

The analog phone is still ringing in the dilapidated room, but no one moves.  I study the warped double doors, the dust-soaked drapes, the high ceiling with its cracked plaster and I shove my hands into my pockets.  I recognize this room.  This is where Katniss had brought me to meet her friends.  Just through those double doors there, I’d been hijacked.  She’d promised me the truth.  She’d promised me control.  She’d promised me herself.

My gaze slides in her direction and my breath catches in my throat.  Her hair is braided elaborately, spilling over her shoulder.  Her black leather vest wraps her up in an embrace that I am instantly jealous of.  Her dark, long-sleeved shirt and simple pants are tight – like a leotard – but clearly comfortable.  And her hunting boots are back, polished until they gleam.  I can’t make out her expression – she’s wearing those dark sunglasses again – but I know she’s not pleased.  She doesn’t want me to be here.   She thinks Finnick is making a mistake.

“You can say no,” she’d told me, hesitating on the threshold of my room last night.

“Do you know how I’m supposed to help you save your sister?”

A heavy sigh had slipped past her slightly swollen lips.  She’d been gnawing on them for hours.  “No.”

“Then I guess he and I have something to talk about.”

She’d turned away, exhausted and defeated.  Hours of going over code with Beetee had worn her down.

“Wait,” I’d breathed and dared to hold out my hand.  “Do you really want to be alone?”

A question.

A moment of honesty.

A shake of her head.

That’s how I’d ended up wrapped around her in my bunk all night.  I hadn’t slept much – I don’t think she had, either – but having her there had been the only thing keeping me sane.

The phone rings again and, finally, Finnick steps forward and picks up the receiver.  “We’re in,” he tells the operator on the other end, and then the spell breaks.  Everyone moves toward the containers scattered around the room to suit up.  I watch as Katniss draws out a pair of handguns and a holster.  She gestures me closer.

“Here, put this on.”  I shuck off my bomber jacket and accommodatingly lift my arms so she can thread my hands through the loops.  As she adjusts the holster’s buckles over my shoulders, she reminds me to check that the safety is on and the guns are loaded.

“We won’t need these, will we?”

“If we’re lucky, no.”

She helps me shrug my jacket back on and stares at my blue T-shirt and faded jeans for a moment.  I can’t remember feeling so underdressed.  “Sorry I’m not as cool as you.”

A huff of laughter squeezes past Katniss’ guard.  “I wasn’t—um, you look good.”

I can’t stand not seeing her eyes a moment longer.  I reach up and gently tug her glasses down her nose until our gazes meet.  She looks a little flushed and her pupils are wider than I’d expected in this lighting.  “You look _great.”_

She gives me a brief smile.

“C’mon, you two.  We’ve got an appointment to keep,” Finnick reminds us, heading for the door.

Johanna mimes giving a bow job, then smirks evilly as she gestures us ahead of her.

Katniss quickly checks over the holstered handguns strapped to her upper thighs, picks up her long jacket, and then strides from the room.

The stairwell is just as much of a hazard today as it had been the last time I was here.  I’m relieved to set foot outside even if we are standing in a trash-littered alleyway that stinks of motor oil, rotten produce, and rat piss.  I don’t bother holding my breath as it’s only a few steps between the stoop and the car.

Johanna drives.  Katniss sits in back with me.  I recognize these streets.  I’ve made deliveries around here before.  There, to that diner, and over there, at that hotel.  I used to stop at that vendor and get tandoori chicken pitas whenever I’d been in the neighborhood.

I blindly reach for Katniss’ hand, pleasantly surprised to encounter her fingers on the bench seat halfway between us, as if she’d been seeking me, too.  I curl my hand around hers.

This is real.

I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I’m a little confused when we pull up to a rundown hardware store.  The gates have been pulled down and the windows behind them are webbed with cracks.  The lettering on the sign is faded and everything looks to be covered in dust.  I follow Katniss to an iron-barred door beside the shop.  She presses a call button and, when the lock grates rustily, I reach around her to push it open.  She used to roll her eyes at the gesture, but now she gives me a tiny, twitch of a smile before preceding me up the narrow, gloomy stairs to a single door on the landing.

“This is it,” she says.  “Ask him whatever you think you need to know, but take his bullshit with a grain of salt.”

“So you don’t believe him?”

Her jaw muscles clench.  “I…”  She looks away.

Huh.  I guess that’s my answer.

I knock.

The door swings open and a storm of alcohol fumes and marijuana smoke hits me in the face.  A man braces himself in the doorway, the neck of a bottle clutched in his hand.  _This_ is the oracle?  This middle-aged, unshaven, slovenly drunkard?  “Well, don’t just stand there.  You think I ain’t got better things to do today?”

I glance at Katniss and she nods for me to go on ahead of her.  “Where’s Effie?” she asks him.  I can’t tell if she’s just making conversation or if the question is actually important.

“Out,” Haymitch retorts shortly.  “By the way, it’s nice to see you happy for a change, sweetheart.”

She sneers at him.

Chuckling, he turns the corner and stomps down the hall.  Katniss slumps against the dingy wall in the tiny entryway and crosses her arms over her chest.  I guess I have to do this part alone.  With one last glance at her, I reluctantly follow my host.

When I run out of hallway, I find myself standing in the middle of a badly broken-in kitchen.  Everything looks like it’s on the verge of its last wheeze.

“Want a cupcake?”

“What?”

Haymitch jerks his head toward the nicotine coated stove.  “Get your ass over here and help me frost these damn things.”

Warily, I approach the cluttered counter and find myself looking at two dozen carrot cake cupcakes.  Haymitch plops a puke-orange bowl in front of me and a metal spatula.  I give the frosting inside a taste – baker’s reflex – before deciding that while it might be a bit thick and a touch on the sweet side, it passes muster.

Haymitch plunks down into a ratty chair at the chipped table and collects a half-smoked joint from the ashtray.  He lights it and takes a drag as I begin my assigned task.  I don’t mind frosting these for him, but there’s one thing I need him to know before we get started with this prophesizing stuff.

“Let’s just get this out there,” I tell him.  “I’m in this for Katniss.  So, whatever you’ve got to say is all well and good and whatever, but it’s not going to happen if she’s not in the equation.”

Haymitch leans his chair back onto two legs and purses his lips.  His scraggly brows arch.  His eyes twinkle briefly.  He’d be a slim man without the paunch bulging slightly under his threadbare flannel shirt.  “Awww, it looks like someone’s got a crush.  How cute.”

He can say whatever he wants about it.  I’m not here for his approval.  “I need to know how I’m supposed to help her hijack her sister.”

“Are we on a tight schedule?”

“I don’t know.  Are we?”

“Made some snickerdoodles, too.  You interested?”

Snickerdoodles?  _What?_   I gape at him for a second.  “No.”  But now I think I know why he has a bit of gut on him.

“Too bad.”  He reaches down and nimbly collects a different bottle of something that I’d be willing to bet is at least 60 proof before taking a swig.  “They really hit the spot after a roach.”  He holds out the smoldering joint to me.

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Blindfold?”

“What?”

Haymitch shakes his head ruefully.  “Isn’t that what they usually offer a guy facing the messy end of a loaded rifle?”

I swallow thickly.  “I wouldn’t know.”

“You will.”  He shakes his head.  “Look kid, you’re running full tilt into something you don’t understand.  You’re determined to protect Katniss – I get that – but do _you_ get that she’s a target?  A big one?  How many times do you think you can offer up your life to save hers?”

My mouth is suddenly so dry I think my teeth are glued together.

“You wanna know why you’re here, kid?  You’re here because the resistance needs cannon fodder for their precious savior.  You’re here because you’d die for her.  And that’s exactly what it’s gonna come down to.”

I shiver.  I know he’s right.  Somehow, I just know.  The path I’ve chosen puts me between Katniss and her enemies.  They will squash me like a bug.

“I’m gonna give you some advice,” Haymitch tells me not unkindly.  “People die for that girl all the time.  You sacrificing your life… that’s nothin’ special.  She’s seen it before.  One scar layered on top of another until nothin’ gets through anymore.  Your death?  That’ll be just another layer of scar tissue for Katniss, another step in the direction of becoming an unfeeling automaton.  Just like the things she’s fighting.”

“So what do I do?”

Haymitch swirls the liquor in the bottle lazily.  “The hardest thing anyone could ever ask of you.  You live for her.  You stay alive.  You keep her human.”

 _Human._   God, he sounds like— “You believe it, too, don’t you?  That she’s some kind of Messiah.”

Haymitch snorts.  “Oh ye of little faith.”

I level the frosting coated spatula at him.  “Katniss has my complete faith, but she doesn’t deserve the kind of shit that comes with a label like that.”

“Yeah, you’d know all about special treatment, wouldn’t you, gimpy?”

“What do I do to help her get her sister out?”

“Persistent little shit, aren’t you?”

I stare him down.

He smirks.  “Nothin’ I can tell you about that, kid, ‘cause you’re not gonna have a hand in it.  Saving her sister – that’s all up to Katniss.  She just has to get off her ass and do it.”

“Then why did you tell her to hijack me so I could help?”

“Hell.  If there’s anyone that needs to get laid more than sweetheart out there, I haven’t met ‘em.”  He grins unrepentantly.  “Turns out she’s kinda choosey and you’re _just_ her type.”

That’s it.  I’m out of here.  I toss the utensil in my hand back into the bowl and pivot toward the door.  A dollop of dropped frosting squishes and smears beneath my shoe.  I don’t think Haymitch will care if I don’t clean it up.

“Here’s a parting thought,” he muses to my back.  “If it had been anyone else falling on that subway track, would you still have jumped down there and tried to shield ‘em from the oncoming train?”

The question pulls me up short.

“There ain’t no shame in _not_ being a hero,” he tells me.  “And there ain’t no shame in being Katniss’ man, but you’ve gotta know your own limits, kid.  Accept ‘em.  You’re never gonna save ‘em all.  Just figure out who you _can_ save.  You got it?”

I give him a considering look.  “Yeah.  Got it.”

“Good.  Now take a fucking cupcake and get the hell out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure where this came from to be honest. More mishmash-ness of Hunger Games (and Peeta's constant goal of saving Katniss) and the Matrix (and the oracle's gift for cookie-scented mind-fucks), I guess.
> 
> Also THANK YOU so much for leaving reviews for me. I read them. I treasure them. They are the kick in the pants that keeps me updating. So, you guys are awesome and I LOVE hearing from you!


	13. Katniss almost accepts a cupcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

I stare at the wall, hating this place, hating my memory, hating the sound of the indistinct mumbles echoing softy back to my down the hall.  I have nightmares about his voice, and I’ll never be able to forget what Haymitch had told me the last time I’d been here.  It’s branded into my brain for all time.

_“Well, if it isn’t the Chosen One.  I chose you, you know.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you haven’t delivered as promised.  Six years in Zion in training and two bouncing all over the fucking Matrix hijacking minds, and what do you have to show for it?  Jack shit.  What the fuck are you waiting for?  An embossed invitation?”_

It’s “engraved invitation.”  Cultureless clod.

_“Well pardon the fuck outta me.  So.  Looks like you’re a cup of sugar short on your Awesome Sauce.”_

It can stay that way.  I like being bitter.

_“Hah fucking hah.  You think you’re funny, sweetheart?”_

Not especially.

_“Right.  Because the only thing you live for is little Miss Primrose.”_

I don’t deny it.

_“You know what you’re facing, there, so I won’t give you a recap, but…  Fair warning: hijacking her is gonna cost you.”_

What more could they take from me?

_“The real question is: what could they take **back?”**_

What?

_“You’re gonna have to be willing to give up two lives in order to free hers, sweetheart.  Two for one.”_

No.

_“That’s just the way it is.”_

Doesn’t have to be!

_“Whatever.  Look, if you wanna get your sister out, you’re gonna need help: a kid by the name of Peeta Mellark.  He’s your best shot and your only hope.  Have fun attempting the fucking impossible.”_

It is impossible.  All of this is impossible.

The heavy tread of Peeta’s booted feet interrupts my reminiscing.  I release my lower lip with a wince.  It feels raw.  I’ve been gnawing on it again.  Peeta turns the corner, scowling at a frosted cupcake in his hand, and I nearly snort with laughter.  Haymitch and his damned sweet tooth.  It’s ridiculous.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” Peeta rasps.

“Look, let’s just not talk about it, okay?”

“Just wipe my ass with his advice and move on?”

“Yup.  But first—” I reach out and tweak a bit of frosting and a corner of cake from the pastry in his grasp.  I pop it in my mouth and roll it on my tongue.  I can usually tell if there’s something off about his baked goods from the smell or taste of them.  This one is—  “All clear.  You can eat that.”

“What, did you expect it to be poisoned?”

“In a place like this?  Whatever gave you that idea?”

It’s not quite a smile, but it is a lightening of his frown.  I count it as a victory.

A small one… and even though I’m destined to ultimately fail in the end, I do have to admit that for once it’s nice to not be facing the future alone.

I wish like hell I didn’t believe Haymitch’s mumbo jumbo hocus pocus shit, but it’s like a colony of termites in my mind.  Eating away at me.  It makes me want to bite back.

“Have a fun visit?” Jo quips as I slam my way into the backseat of the car.  I know there’s no point in throwing a fit.  I can stomp down stairs and toss myself into seats all I like but it means diddly-squat here.

“Whoo hoo,” I deadpan, glaring out the window.

Finnick grins and shakes his head.  Johanna laughs screechily as she pulls out into traffic.  After two intersections and a left turn, Peeta bumps his knee against mine, but when I look up he’s not even turned toward me.  He blindly offers the remaining half of his cupcake in an outstretched hand.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, if this is what it takes to get you to swap spit with him, he’s all for it,” Jo contributes.  “FYI: this guy’s committed.”

Peeta blushes but doesn’t take the half of the cupcake back.  Clearing his throat, he offers, “I tore it in half.  No spit included.”

“So just regular boy cooties, then?” I tease.

He laughs, glances over at me and I smile in reply to the sparkle I see in his blue eyes.  His blond hair falls over his brow, windblown and sexy.  Inviting.  God help me when his hair actually _does_ grow out because I want to touch him so badly my entire body thrums with it.  I affect a put-upon sigh and reach out to accept the half of the cupcake.  His lips soften into a smile sweeter than the frosting.  His eyes track my expression.  I shyly focus on what I’m reaching for and then—

Peeta sucks in a sharp breath.  His fingers twitch around the cupcake.  “Jo—!”

And then it’s too late.

A blueshifted whoosh.

An ear-numbing crash.  A stomach-emptying jolt.  A spittle-spray of glass.

And Peeta’s arms around me, pulling me toward him as my seat belt slices across my hips and his torso curves over my head.

The car screeches sideways, slows, stops, rocks on its shocks.

What the fuck just happened?

I blink open my eyes and stare at the remains of the cupcake lying on the floor next to my feet.  From this angle, I can see that my door has been crushed inward.

As unbelievable as it seems, it must be true: we’ve just been in a car accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. A car accident. I have a theory about this. When you hack into the Matrix, you bring a lot of stuff with you - clothing, guns, a car, etc - that are not connected to the system. Which means that the Matrix doesn't take your presence into account with its calculations. And since the Matrix is feeding data into the brains of the people connected to it, it's really dicey whether they'll see you or not. They might see you (because you're standing there) or the Matrix might be telling them that there's no one there so they slam into you. If you've seen the movie, then you know about the Woman in the Red Dress training program. Neo is fighting against a TIDE of pedestrians on a busy sidewalk. It's like they don't even see him until he slams into them. And I thought, "Hey, maybe that's how it really works and that's why Morpheus and Trinity avoid crowds." So, if there's the potential for someone to not see a hacker on the sidewalk, then I think there's the possibility that they wouldn't see a hacker's car, either. Hence the traffic accident.


	14. Peeta takes a chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

I lift my face from between Katniss’ shoulder blades, shaking my head and scattering glass fragments.  “Are you okay?” I croak, supporting her arms as she carefully sits up.

“Yes.  Jo?”

“Still in one piece,” she reports from the front seat.  “Can’t say the same for Finnick.”  She smacks him hard on the arm.  He twitches.  “But he’s alive.  Hey, fearless leader, you’re bleeding all over the leather.  Knock it off already.”

As if the order alone will help anything.

But then I remember Finnick telling me that we are as strong and as fast as we believe we are.  Hell, maybe bossing him around will actually staunch the blood flow.

“Fuck.  He’s out cold.”

Katniss shoves at my arm.  “Go.  Out the door.”

I heave it open – was it this heavy five minutes ago when we’d climbed in?  I don’t think so.  Katniss fights with her seatbelt as I stumble out onto the asphalt and scramble for the handle on Johanna’s door.  By the time I wrench it open, she’s got Finnick’s seat lowered and shoved back.  She tosses the seat belt aside and hauls Finnick toward her side of the car.  It’s a tight fit, but I reach in and grab his collar to assist.  A growl followed by a triumphant grunt from the backseat announces Katniss’ victory over her own buckle and then her hands are curling around Finnick’s waistband as she tries to wrestle his lower half free of the footwell.

Just as his rear lands on the parking brake between the seats, Finnick snorts, groans, and complains, “Whatever that is, get it the hell away from my ass.”

“Working on it,” I mutter.

Jo cackles.  “Oh shut up and take it like a man, Finn.”

“You take it like a man.”

“Shut up and move!”  Katniss snarls, “Before the cops show up!”

Finnick finally figures out how to work his arms and legs.  We pull and he kicks and wiggles and shoves.  Jo objects vocally as she rolls out of her seat and onto the road.  I keep a hold on Finnick’s shoulders so he doesn’t end up piling on top of her.  Katniss helps her up and I work on getting Finnick to stand on his own two feet.

“Hey, snap out of it,” I grumble.

“Easy for you to say.”

“A wise man once said, work the code, don’t let the code work you.”

“Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck off.”

“We’re not far from the exit,” Katniss interrupts.  “Let’s get him into that alley and then it’s just three and a half blocks to the building—”

“Agents are coming.”

“What?”

We all freeze at Johanna’s dispassionate remark.  She gestures toward the crowd forming across the street.  “We’re not on the grid and this is causing a holdup of massive proportions.  Only a matter of time before they clue the fuck in, guys.”

“Shit,” Katniss spits, reaching for a gun holstered on her thigh.

I scan the gathered spectators but don’t see anyone particularly intimidating.

A hard shove pulls me back to the task at hand.  “Get Finn back to the exit,” she orders me.  “Jo, go with him.  I’ll lead them off.”

“No!”  She can’t do that!  I lurch for her arm.

She evades my grasp.  “Go, Peeta!”

“You need a partner!”  I scramble after her.  Finnick’s hands push me in her direction, tacitly agreeing with my assessment.

“Lead them on a merry chase.  Call Gale.  We’ll have another exit ready for you,” Jo says, already hauling Finnick toward the alley.  I don’t look back as I take off after Katniss’ swinging braid.  I don’t waste my breath calling out after her.  Instead, I remind myself that I am _fast._   Faster.  The fastest.  I’m moving quicker than I ever have in my life and yet I only just keep her in sight.

Shit.  Finn was right about her being exceptional.

When she suddenly turns on a dime and races back toward me, I gape even as I reach out a hand for her to grab in passing.  “You were totally playing with me in Lisbon,” I accuse as she spins me around and ducks down a stairwell.  Just before I have to pay attention to where we’re going, I glimpse a man – suit, tie, sunglasses, neatly combed short hair – running with inhuman efficiency toward us.

An agent.

Fuck.

And double fuck when I realize where we’re going.

“The subway?” I hiss, doing my best not to fall ass over tea kettle down to the station thoroughfare.

“They’re herding us,” she grits out.

“What’re we gonna do?”

“Stay alive.”

She doesn’t bother with the ticket machines or token booths.  Katniss ignores the shouts as she vaults over the bank of turnstiles.  With her fingers curled around my wrist, I can’t exactly ask for a timeout, so I suck it up and leap over the neighboring barrier.

Damn.  I’ve never cleared a hurdle in my life.  If not for that Jump Program, I’m pretty sure Katniss would have plowed me right into the thing.

“Subway cops,” I rasp.

“Unavoidable,” she agrees.

I desperately wish for the sound of a train, but the tunnels are silent.  Damn it.  How the hell are we going to get out of this?

I shouldn’t have come.  I can see that, now.  I should have trusted her to handle herself.  I’m only slowing her down.

“I’m gonna owe you one hell of a foot rub when this is all over with,” I predict as we blow past a janitorial closet that had looked like a promising place to lie low until the coast clears.

“A footr— _what?”_

“Back rub?  Shiatsu?”  Another service entrance.  I scan the platform – echoingly empty.  Where the hell are the passengers?  It’s the middle of the Goddamn day for Christ’s sake!

“You know shiatsu?”

“Hell no, but Rory can hook me up, right?”

She grunts out a laugh and dashes toward the entrance of the tunnel.  I wonder what the hell she thinks she’s doing – there’s no avoiding the fact that we are trapped down here and, I’ll be honest, it’s starting to creep me out how much this is reminding me of the last time I’d been in the subway with Katniss.  But I go with it.

I’m impressed with myself when she pulls me over the side of the platform and onto the tracks and I _don’t even hesitate to jump down there with her._

Holy shit.

We’re just a short scoot away from the tunnel entrance when I hear the click of hard-soled, handcrafted Italian leather men’s business shoes tapping down the steps.  Every crisp step echoes against the tiled walls and concrete floor.  Katniss throws out an arm and pushes me back, pressing us both flush against the wall of the platform.  There’s no overhang to speak of.  If an agent pokes his head over the edge, he’ll see us.

Thank God he’s got plenty of columns and closets to check out before he gets to this end of the platform.  Still, we can’t hang out here indefinitely.

My fingers find Katniss’.  I hang on.  I close my eyes.  I pray.

And that’s when I hear it.

A train is coming.  My entire body breaks out into a cold sweat but Katniss doesn’t let go of my hand.  I try not to stare down the tracks, past the platform and into the opposite tunnel opening at the oncoming headlights.  I’m shaking… remembering the snarling roar and screech and blaring horn and Katniss’ warm body curled up and trembling beneath mine.

_“I’m not letting go!”_

A tug on my hand snaps me back to the present.  Katniss nods her head, gesturing me deeper into the shadows of the tunnel.  The sound of the train covers my clumsy footsteps.  It makes no sense for us to run into the tunnel – there isn’t enough clearance for us to survive the passing of the train – but Katniss merely presses her index finger to my lips and leans around me, watching.

The train rolls to a stop.  The conductor turns his attention to the switches and dials on the control panel.  In that instant when his attention is not focused on the murk just beyond the range of the headlights, Katniss makes her move, hauling me back toward the platform, almost moving too fast for me to keep up with.

At the edge, she backs up a step, scans the seemingly-empty arrivals hall, leaps up and offers a hand back to help me.  I scramble up next to her.  She moves to shove me through the first set of doors just as the chime sounds but I maneuver her ahead of me.

And it’s a good thing I do, too, because that’s when gunshots ring out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil cliffhanger is evil. I know. Leave me a note when you're ready for the next chapter, yeah?


	15. Katniss cracks a code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

_Pop!_

I return fire from just inside the open door.  The agent is sprinting for the car, but he can’t both dodge my bullets and manage maximum speed at the same time.  _Pop pop pop!_

Twelve feet.

_Pop!  Pop!_

Eight…

_Whoosh!_

The doors are shut.

 _Crack!  Ping!_ A spider web of fissures punches into the glass, but the window holds.

Six…

And then the train is rolling.  Fuck.  They know where we are and it’s only a matter of time before the conductor gets rewritten by an agent—or maybe they’ll just be waiting for us at the next station.  That’s probably the most likely scenario.  The agent on the subway platform hadn’t been able to reach the doors before they’d closed, but then again he hadn’t really tried.

Which means Peeta and I are heading for the shit storm to end all shit storms.

“Fuck!” I hiss.

Peeta coughs.  “Yeah.  This kinda sucks.”

I blow out a breath, a rebuke on the tip of my tongue: he shouldn’t have listened to Finnick’s stupid order to tag along!   _I don’t need a Goddamn partner!_

“We made it longer than fourteen seconds, though.”  Cough.  Gurgle.

I jerk toward him, my gaze sweeping the empty subway car and diving into a deepening puddle of blood on the floor.

“Peeta!”

“Yeah, yeah.  Still here.”

I crash to my knees next to him.  He winces as I run my hands over his arms and chest.  “Where were you hit?”

“Dunno.  Everything hurts.  But you’re okay, right?”

“Damn you,” I grit out.  “You’re not allowed to save me again.  It’s my fucking turn!”

“Sorry.  I guess I just don’t—”  Cough.  Wince. “—play well with others.”

“Shut up.”  The blood is soaking through the knees of my pants now.  I yank Peeta’s jacket from his shoulders and roll him over onto his stomach on the grimy floor.  I quickly find three oozing holes in his flesh.  Lung shot.  Kidney.  The third is probably wedged somewhere on the other side of his spinal column and who the hell knows what kind of damage it’s done to him.

I reach for his hand.  “You gotta fight this for me.  Do you hear me?  You’ve got to fight.”

He shakes his head.  “No.  You go.  Get outta here.”

“I’m not leaving you.  I’m not gonna do that!”  I’m screaming at him but I don’t care.  He lets out a strangled cry when I press my forehead to the center of his back.  I can smell the blood, feel it staining my skin and clumping in my eyelashes.  This is real: this is Peeta, dying by degrees in my arms.

The train shakes as it hits a curve.  I don’t know how much more time we have and I don’t give a shit.  “I’m not leaving you.  Ever.  Goddamn it, you pull it together.”

“Like Jo was telling Finn?”

“Yes.  You can do this.  Come on.  It’s not that hard.  It’s like having a nightmare and figuring out that you’re dreaming and then taking control of—”

“I always sucked at that.”

“You made the jump.”

“Because you were waiting for me.  Because you needed me.  On the other building.  I imagined it – you were in trouble and—”  When he coughs this time blood splatters on the floor.

I grit my teeth.  I press my hands over the lower two bullet wounds and apply my own cheek to the third, the one that has punctured his lung.  “I’m not letting go,” I tell him, frantic to think of a way to save him.  I have to save him.  I have to save Peeta.

The train swerves again.  The station will be coming up soon.  The agents will be waiting.  We’re both going to die.

I squeeze my eyes shut so tight, tiny sparkles dance across my pitch-black field of vision.  God.  Please.  I’d give anything – do _anything_ – to turn back the clock.  To take these bullets for Peeta.  To force him to head off with Jo and Finn.  I’d give anything for a do-over.  _Anything!_

My desperation comes out as a scream.

Peeta shushes my weakly.  “It’s… gonna be okay.  You’re… the one.”

“I hate that fucking title!”  Who the hell told him about that?!

“No.”  His hands – cold, pale, trembling – fumble for the end of my braid.  “No.  You’re the one for me.  Love you.  Katniss.”  He sighs and it almost sounds happy.  “Blossom.  Katniss blossom.  It’s a flower.  That’s it.  Where I know your name from.  Katniss.”

I want him to shut up.  I want him to never stop talking.  I want him.  I want him I want him I want him.  I roll my forehead against his blood-soaked T-shirt, mashing my face – eye-nose-eye and back again – into his hard muscles.  The tiny green sparkles that had flickered behind my closed eyelids turn into a trickle.  Trickling like drips and drops, scrolling.  Green and then white, then green, then darker and—

Wait.

I press even closer to him.  He attempts a groan but doesn’t really have the air for it.  His lung is full of blood.  The left one.  I can see it.  I can _see it._

Oh, God.  I’m holding the code – Peeta’s code – in my arms.  My eyes fly open in shock and I almost howl in frustration, certain that I’ll lose my grasp on the characters, but they’re still there.  I can still see them, feel them… can I change them?

I hunt for the bullet.  I find it.  I reach out to the code and… erase it.

Peeta gasps.  “Kat—Kat—?”

I scan over strings of commands for smooth, unbroken skin and healthy muscles.  Select.  Copy.  Then I search and then stumble over the hole carved into him by the bullet.  Select.  Insert.  Repair.

“Shit!  Shit.  What—?”

“Shh!”  The train is beginning to slow.  I erase the blood in his lung and the other two bullets.  I patch his muscles and skin, knit shattered bone.  He’s still bleeding internally, though.  He’s still—

“The doors!  _Move!”_

He rolls over and shoves me away, knocking me toward the space under the seats against the wall which faces the platform, tucking me out of sight, safe from immediate discovery.  But leaving himself exposed in a bloody puddle on the floor.

_No!_

And then he slumps.  Limp.  Lifeless.  If not for the fact that I can _see_ his heart beating – I can feel the rhythm of it through the pulse of ones and zeroes that make up everything in the Matrix – I would have thought him dead, but he’s not dead.  He’s faking.  And since he’s not part of the system, the agents won’t suspect otherwise.

They won’t spare him a glance.  He can still get out of here.  Call Gale and get to a new exit.  But I know he won’t go.  He won’t leave me.  The idiot is probably going to leap on the first agent to set foot on this train and try to save me _again._   I scramble to unholster my guns in perfect silence.  I don’t bother hoping no one will board the train.  I’ve never been that lucky.  But if I can get a clear shot before I’m seen – if I can wait until the doors close before I take the shot – I might be able to protect Peeta for however long it takes us to get to the next station.  And then I can deal with however many of them there are waiting for us there.  I can do this.  I can do this all damn day if I have to.  I can—

A patent leather shoe crosses the threshold.  A perfectly hemmed trouser leg with a perfect pleat.  There is no gasp of shock and revulsion.  This passenger is not surprised by the sight of Peeta lying opposite the door so pale and still.

This passenger is an agent.

I close my eyes, search out those green, ghostly sequences.  Do I know enough of agent coding to kill him before he spots me?

The agent takes a step forward.  Any second now, he’ll zero in on me—

“Katniss?”

My eyes fly open.  I stare at Peeta.  His heart rate spikes.  Yes, he’d heard it, too.

“Katniss?  Are you here?”

Oh, God.  _Prim._

This isn’t just any agent.  This is the agent who has been using my sister as his host for the last eight fucking years.

Son of a bitch!

_“You’re gonna have to be willing to risk two lives in order to free hers, sweetheart.  Two for one.”_

Two lives: Peeta’s and mine.  I can shoot this agent, point blank, and save Peeta and myself.  I can keep us safe for a few more minutes or seconds if I kill my own sister.  Or, I can take a chance.  I can gamble with our lives.  One thing is certain: I can’t play it safe.  Safe is not an option, not anymore.

I take a deep breath.  I tighten my bloody fingers around the guns.  The car doors whisper closed.  The train begins to move.

And now I have to choose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I hide behind my artistic license and say OF COURSE it's totally possible that the subway platform and train are completely empty in the middle of the day in some ginormous city because, hey, it's the Matrix and weird stuff like that is totally possible. OK, but seriously. I always thought it was weird in the movie how the agents start being so OBVIOUS at the end. They pop out everywhere which seems to go against their low-profile image throughout the first 70% of the movie. So, I'm sticking with the low profile deal. In the previous chapter, Katniss says the agents are "herding" her and Peeta, so the agents want to get them alone so they can kill them without making a big scene. How do they do this? Well, I imagine that the Matrix sends a code out to the people on the subway platform and on the train that gives them a really bad feeling (say, a premonition of doom? Remember, all these people are plugged into the Matrix via a neural connection, and many (if not all) of our emotional responses are triggered by chemicals in the brain, so I think it'd be easy to manipulate a couple dozen people into suddenly vacating an area). So that's how the platform and the train ends up deserted. As to why an army of agents don't descend all at once, well, they have no proof that Katniss and Peeta are dangerous or exceptional. One or two agents have eradicated hackers before, so they expect this to be as easy as those previous encounters.
> 
> OK, I hope that answers any questions you might have. LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR COMMENTS!


	16. Peeta meets the One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta POV

I shouldn’t be alive right now.  The pain is incredible, but the bullets are gone and the puddle of blood underneath me isn’t getting any bigger.  What the hell had Katniss done to me?

Doesn’t matter.  I can see the blurred outline of an agent approaching the subway car, stepping over the threshold, and scanning me with disdain.  I consider twitching.  I need to keep his attention away from Katniss.  She’s just there, an arm’s length away from his knee.  She can shoot him if I just distract him—

“Katniss?”

My heart gallops into my throat.  What the fuck?  Had that agent just used a little girl’s voice to call out?

“Katniss?  Are you here?”

It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from widening.

“Sis?”

Sis.  Sister.  Oh my God.

_“My sister’s alive, but the system has her.  Trapped.  The agents…”_

Oh, fuck.  Her sister isn’t just trapped.  She isn’t locked up in a cell somewhere waiting for her older sister to bust her out.  She’s _hosting an agent._

Just like that, I lose all hope.  Katniss is not gonna kill her own sister to save herself.  No way.  Now it’s up to me to do something.  I’ve got all of one and half seconds to come up with a plan and… I’ve got nothing.  I should have something.  I’m supposed to be here; Haymitch had said so.  I’m supposed to be helping Katniss _somehow._

But all I can do is watch as Katniss frees one hand, slowly rolls up onto her knees, and whispers, “Prim?”

The agent whirls on her, but Katniss is fast – so inconceivably fucking fast.  She springs and they both crash into my bloody puddle.  I scramble to grab the bastard’s wrists, hold him down as Katniss presses her hands to his face.  There’s a subtle ripple of light against the agent’s skin.  His body jerks, stopping him from bucking her off.  His mouth falls open.

“Get—out—of—my—sister,” Katniss rasps, her eyes unblinking and so hard, harder than iron and darker than coal.  I wonder if they’ll turn into diamonds.

“No!”  His wail is little more than a wheeze.  His body spasms again.

And then it’s over.  From one heartbeat to the next, I’m no longer pinning a grown man to the blood-smeared floor of the subway car.  I’m holding down a trembling girl.  She must be in her mid-teens, but her eyes are so wide and her face so drawn that she seems half that age.

“Katniss?”

“Prim!”  Katniss hauls her into her lap, alternately clutching and petting her sister’s increasingly blood-soaked blond braids.

Holy fuck.  _She did it._   She’d fucking erasedthe agent from her sister.  Or pushed him out.  _Something_ that shouldn’t have been remotely possible.  I gape, mouth open.  I can’t believe this.  I lean back against the doors of the train, wincing as my damaged kidney and throbbing guts shift inside me.  I’m still bleeding, but I think I’ll live long enough to—

_Slam!_

The conductor’s door crashes open.  A gun pops into my hand.  I lean around the edge of the bench seat, aim, fire—

The agent – the one from the first subway station – dodges the bullet.  His gun is trained on Katniss and Prim, but Katniss doesn’t look worried.  She looks fierce and flaming _pissed off._

_Bang!_

I flinch, but she doesn’t move, just scowls in concentration as the first bullet zooms toward her and then… nothing.  The thing simply disappears.  Erased.

Holy shit.

“No,” she tells him firmly.  Like she’s scolding a misbehaving dog.

He empties the clip at her in the span of a few seconds, stalking nearer and nearer.  None of the bullets reach their intended target.  Not a single one.  I take a steadying breath as the agent advances.  The moment he’s within arm’s reach, I surge to my feet.  My eyes nearly roll up into my head at the sudden movement, but it doesn’t stop me from pressing the barrel of my gun to the man’s temple.  I fire once more.  At this distance, I can’t possibly miss.

I don’t.

His body jerks.  Electricity crackles in the air.  The train conductor falls to the floor.

I crawl over to him to check for a pulse.  He’s dead.  Of course he is.  Oh, God.  I’d just killed someone.  I’d just—!

And then a hand grabs my arm, pulling me toward the tangle of limbs that is Katniss and her little sister.  “Shh,” Katniss whispers.  “I’ve got you.”

I lean against her for a moment, tilting my face into her neck before I force myself to calm down.  I will freak out later.  Later.

I reach for the cell phone in my pocket and dial.

“Operator.”

“Gale,” I gasp around the hot, squishy throbbing deep in my torso.  “We’re gonna need an exit.”

“Got one ready for you—”

“With hijack stuff.”

“We’re on it—”

“And I need to know how to operate a subway train.”

“Nooo, you need to get off of the one you’re on.  They’re clearing the track and setting up a block.  You’ve got about two minutes before you hit it.  Get moving out the back.”

I nod.  “Come on,” I urge Katniss, tugging on her elbow.  “We’ve gotta go.”

Katniss pulls my phone, still clutched in my fingers, to her ear.  “Where’s the exit?” she rasps, meeting my gaze full-on.  She listens to the address Gale rattles off and answers, “We’ll be there.”  The phone snaps shut.  She further punctuates her promise by leaning forward and kissing me squarely on the mouth.

Prim sighs.  “Knew it.”

“Knew what?” Katniss snorts, clearly not expecting an answer from the exhausted teenager.  I daringly brush a finger over Katniss’ jaw before giving her sister what I hope is a friendly smile.

“I’m Peeta.  Nice to meet you.”

Her smile is angelic.

When Katniss moves as if to stand, I reach for Prim’s shoulders so that her sister can shift her off of her lap without dumping her onto the sticky floor.

“Up, up, up, little duck,” Katniss softly sings.

“I’m tired,” she whines.

I feel her pain as I push myself to my feet, trying not to hunch over like a nine-hundred-year-old geezer.

Katniss curves her arms around her sister’s waist and angles her toward the back of the car.  “I know you wanna sleep, but we’ve gotta move now.”

Move, we do.  I wrap one arm around my middle to keep my guts from shifting too much and another around Katniss’ shoulders as we stagger down the length of the subway train to the rear door.  Before I can lift a fist to bash it open, Katniss presses her hand to the glass window and the whole thing vanishes.

Huh.  I guess that’s what she’d done to those bullets.

“You and Prim go first,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes and grabs my hand.  We all three jump at the same time.

Later, I won’t remember exactly how we’d gotten to the exit point.  It becomes a blur of crowds and alleyways and shadows.  But I’ll never forget the moment all three of us had been airborne in the darkness of the tunnel.  The roar and clatter of the train had once again stolen my breath and I’d marveled at how our path – mine and Katniss’ – had led us back to these tracks deep beneath the city.  The last time we’d been here, the last time we’d laid our lives on the line, we’d survived by clinging to each other, by not letting go.

And that’s the beauty of it: in the Matrix, your strength is only restricted by the limits of your imagination, and I can’t conceive of anything that could ever force us apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Matrix, whenever an agent overwrites a person's code, we see the agent. (That is, the person kind of turns into an agent. But if the agent is killed, it's the person who dies, NOT the agent. The agent is free to take over another body.) So, what Katniss does here is ERASE the agent's coding, leaving only the person he'd been using as a host behind. That's how she gets the agent to give up his hold on her sister WITHOUT killing her sister in the process. OK. Hope that makes sense.
> 
> If you have questions, now would be the time to ask. Otherwise, I hope you're ready for the epilogue-type thing that's coming up next. (^_~)


	17. Katniss says goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss POV

This moment has been eight years in coming, and yet as I kneel here in the lush grass, as the sunlight pours over me, warming my hair and skin, as the sound of the wind playing with the leaves whispers soothingly, it feels as if only a few days have passed since that horrible morning in the subway tunnel, the morning everything had changed.

“He’s really gone.”

Prim’s murmur pries my eyes open and her sniffle tightens my arm around her shoulders.  “Yes,” I answer.  “He is.”

I stare at the engraving on the stone, trying not to flinch at the sight of our father’s name staring back, unchanging and unignorable.  There is no body six feet under.  There is no body at all.  I still haven’t told Prim.  She doesn’t need to know the details yet.  I’ve been keeping her sedated aboard the District Twelve, only letting her “wake up” in the Construct.  I can protect her here.  Finally.  I have so much to make up for.

Once we get to Zion and she sees the city, explanations will be necessary, but not here.  Not now.  Not yet.  They’ll explain everything at the academy.  Better than I can.  And, honestly, it would kill me to have to be the one to tell her the truth about how and why our father had died.  Finn and Jo don’t agree, but at least they’re not interfering, so that’s something.

She laments, “I still don’t remember the funeral.”

There hadn’t been one.  That is another secret I am protecting her from.

The truth is that my sister only remembers the first eight years of her life.  The agent had taken the rest.  In her mind, she’s still a child.  I want her to stay that way for as long as possible.  I wish someone had made that effort for me.  “It was a long time ago,” I temporize.

“Will I ever remember?”

I guide her head to my shoulder and press a kiss to her braided hair.  It’s been so long since I’ve been able to do this.  I’ll have to wait even longer to do it again away from this place.  It’s only been a few days since we’d found each other again and it’ll take years for her hair to grow out.  It’s a small thing – a detail, really – that the machines have taken from her.  One day, she’ll take it back.  That’s the only way to beat them: live a better life than the one they’d offered.

“The important thing,” I answer, “is that you remember _him._   You can, can’t you?  You remember the lullabies he used to sing to us?”

She nods.

“And the sock puppets we used to make?”

“Yes.”

“And how he could never say no to a peanut butter sandwich?”

She squeaks softly.  I rock her back and forth, a song rising up in my throat.  She hums it with me, tears boiling over her lashes and spilling down her pale cheeks.  I wait until she falls asleep in my arms before I speak.

“Gale?  Rory?  She’s ready to go back to her room.”

From one instant to the next, she disappears.  Aboard the District Twelve, my friends and crew members are carrying her back to her room.  Johanna will give her a sedative if she needs it and I’ll be there soon to watch over her, but for right now... right now… I sit beside a grave meant to belong to my father.  I have never felt more alone or more insignificant.

Before my empty arms cause my listless spirit to drift away, before my mind retreats back to my body aboard a hovercraft lurking in the ruins of the world, a warm hand on my shoulder grounds me.

“Are you ready for a hug yet?” Peeta asks.

I take a moment.  Two.  Three…

“Yes.”

And just like that, Peeta crouches down behind me, wraps himself around me, warms me.  My heart flushes with heat which seeps outward toward the pressure his body gently exerts upon mine.  I tilt my head toward his jaw.  He tilts his head against mine, breathes out, holds me tighter.

He observes lightly, “It’s a nice program, er, place.  Peaceful.”

“Rory’s design.”

“Really?  Where’s the vibrating bed?”

He wins a helpless laugh from me.  “I think he has a crush on my little sister.”

“Well.  I hope he’s prepared to go the distance.  How long before you let Prim date?”

“Oh… about ten, twenty years.”

He chuckles.  I smile.  Peeta can always pull a smile from me.

And then, unexpectedly: “I brought a motorcycle.”  His voice tickles as it slides into my ear.  “Just in case you wanted to take ride.”

I keep my eyes closed.  “Why would you think I’d want to go anywhere with you?” I tease.

“Oh, I dunno.  Wishful thinking, I guess.  Our last date got interrupted.”

“By a car accident, an agent, and you almost dying?”

“Uh, no.  I was thinking of the Lisbon program.”

Ah yes, I remember our interruption now: a mugger on the winding streets of old town.  “Was that a date?”

“Again.  Wishful thinking.”

I shake my head.

“If we manage to avoid muggers, agents, and near-death experiences, there might be a kiss in it for you at the end of the outing,” he teases.

I laugh again.  “How can I refuse such a juicy carrot.”

“Hm… I’ve never heard it called that before.  And, in all honesty, I don’t think I’m quite ready for you to handle my carrot.  Juicy or otherwise.”

This laugh is longer, deeper, bursting up from my belly.  “Oh, Peeta,” I eventually sigh.  “When you are ready, I call dibs.”

“Dibs, huh?”

I nod.  I can’t believe I’m flirting heavily with Peeta in a cemetery while we’re knotted around each other and kneeling before my father’s fictional gravestone.  A more bitter, cynical, and mistrustful version of myself would have shoved Peeta away, scolded him, turned away from him… except that I remember the way my father would smile at him whenever Peeta would tip coins into our guitar case.  His grey eyes had shone with pride and sadness in equal measures.  My father had liked Peeta, and he wouldn’t want me to be alone.  I don’t think he’d be disappointed that my companion is the boy from the subway whose dollar and fifty cents had helped us buy bread.

I fill my lungs with a cleansing breath.  “Let’s go,” I tell him, nodding back toward the entrance to the graveyard.

“You got it.”

He clumsily pushes himself to his feet, bumping my shoulder and mashing his nose into my hair.  I’m pretty sure the move is deliberate.  He’s such a puppy sometimes, especially when he can tell that I’m one serious moment away from a meltdown.

Yes, he means to be a klutz.  In contrast to his playful fumbling, Peeta smoothly pulls me to my feet, delicately drapes his leather jacket around my shoulders and, softly interlacing our fingers, he walks me down the path to the gates.

I don’t know anything about motorcycles, but this machine looks very sleek and fast.  Dangerous.  Like a pure black hornet.

“Have you ever driven one of these things?”

He taps his temple.  “Rory hooked me up,” he cockily confides, squeezing yet another smile from me.

“I still want a helmet.”

He chuckles, tugging me closer and kissing my cheek.  “I have _two_ helmets.  In fact, you can choose which one you want.”  He gestures to them.  One hangs off of each handle.  A dark evergreen and a soft golden-orange.”

“Hm.  Orange, I guess.  That way I don’t have to look at it.”

He winces.  “You wound me.  Orange is a great color.”  But he hands over the helmet in question.

I slip my arms into his jacket sleeves, buckle the chin strap, and then climb onto the seat behind him.  He reaches for the ignition and—

“Is that a _smurf_ keychain?”

“Painter Smurf,” he confirms proudly.  “So… where to?”

I lean my helmet-covered head between his shoulders and wind my arms around his waist.  I remember the last time I’d leaned against him like this: we’d been aboard the subway train, surrounded by a pool of cooling blood, shivering with waning adrenaline and violence-numbed nerves.

“Peeta?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

His hand covers mine.  His thumb rubs over my fingers, back and forth.  He doesn’t answer.  He doesn’t argue.  Instead, he promises, “Anytime, Katniss.  Anything.”

I sigh and hug him tighter.  “Let’s just drive.  Let’s not go back until we have to.”  And there is so much – too much – to go back to.

The Matrix is still out there.  I’d saved my sister, but there are so many people still trapped inside.  I can’t save them all, but I have to try, don’t I?  Finnick was right: I’m the One.  The future is waiting for me – for all us.  A very _real_ future.  I’m not ready for the real.  The real me.  The real world.  The real… _everything._

Not yet.  Please.

I burrow against Peeta’s back and hold on for as long as I can.  I tell myself nothing can force me to let go, but I know I’m lying.  I know I must let go.  It is only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> I really hope you all enjoyed the story. I'll love you forever if you take a moment to leave a comment and let me know. I'll build you a shrine if you tell me what your favorite things/moments were. I'll be inspired to write more if you flail and squee and gush and enthuse. So, yeah. That's how we roll 'round these parts. (^_~)


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